


Crime Hits Back

by RileyHale



Category: A Pup Named Scooby-Doo (Cartoon), Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Romance, Crime, F/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25389289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyHale/pseuds/RileyHale
Summary: There's a new villain in Coolsville who seems to have the measure of our intrepid detectives and their puppy. But what is the new ne'er-do-well's ultimate goal? Find out in a story set two years after the screened events from A Pup Named Scooby-Doo!
Relationships: Daphne Blake/Fred Jones, Velma Dinkley/Norville "Shaggy" Rogers
Kudos: 6





	1. Means And Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the brainchild of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.

Witnesses inside the jewelry store didn't describe the robber as a person. He seemed more like a specter, a supernatural entity. How else could they describe his methods of robbing the establishment?

From his entrance at 16:00 that Friday afternoon it was immediately apparent that he didn't belong there; he stood out in a crowd of immaculately tailored and coiffured patrons with his tattered black denim, faded grey t-shirt and equally faded black duster coat. But most striking of all was the mask he wore: full-face, with what one witness correctly guessed was Maori tribal markings covering almost every square inch.

They all spoke of how they wondered that someone like _that_ could be allowed in a place like _this_. The answer came when they looked at the security guard at the door, ready to have his job for dereliction of duty, only to see him lying lifelessly at his post. Then the reality set in: this was about to be a robbery.

Panic and petrification set upon the shop floor. They watched him, fearful though still morbidly curious about how he intended to execute his plan. They watched, as he lifted his arms and held them outstretched. As they watched him, they noticed how gradually they became queasy and how their legs started buckling as though they could no longer remember how to stand upright. Then the pain set in, a sudden head-splitting throb that caused the afflicted to scream out in agony, begging for the pain to stop. Unconsciousness claimed them to the envy of the others.

Those not overcome by the pain, they spoke of profound disbelief at how the armored glass display cases then suddenly shattered, exposing their contents to the open air. They watched him as he helped himself, at his leisure, to a seemingly random selection of jewelry items which he placed in a small bag.

" _PUT YOUR HANDS UP, ASSHOLE!"_

The few remaining conscious witnesses sighed in relief that the guard had recovered enough to regain his footing and draw his weapon which was now trained on the entity. The entity then slowly turned toward the guard, hands raised.

" _THAT'S RIGHT, ASSHOLE! NICE AND SLOW!"_ ordered the guard, sensing his upcoming commendation as his target complied.

He and what witnesses remained conscious felt their relief turn to even more excruciating pain as the headaches and nausea and imbalance returned with a vengeance. The pain was now unbearable to the point of screaming unto unconsciousness all around the room. All except the guard, who despite having dropped his weapon, remained barely standing. The entity gave him special attention by simply pointing a finger gun his way, then jerking his hand upward to simulate recoil. The guard then felt his lungs instantly constrict, his breathing becoming labored, almost impossible. Oh god, the monster was smothering him without even touching him! As his ability to draw breath abandoned him, the guard felt his vision becoming darker and darker until all that remained was blackness.

**xxXXXxx**

The robber casually exited the store and walked into an adjacent alleyway, to an open manhole down which he descended, being sure to close the cover behind him. Down below was a long-abandoned subway tunnel, a relic of Coolsville's failed excess and ambition from the eighties. There he changed out of the costume into a second, more nondescript civilian outfit. There was also an awaiting duffel bag into which he stuffed the monster outfit together with the loot. He then began his walk.

He had time. The people at the jewelry store would all regain consciousness, they'd all recover. He knew that. The police would be called, the crime would be investigated. Witness statements would be taken. And the witnesses would tell of a… _thing_ …that could make people black out and knock their wind out without even touching them. Coolsville PD would then decide that this was beyond the scope of their CSU and the forensics investigators. Then _they_ would come, as they always did. Ghosts were right up their alley, they wouldn't be able to resist. This time he was anticipating the move. He was _counting_ on it: all part of the plan.

After walking for just over an hour, he found the ladder that led to the desired exit. He climbed out and indeed he was in the destination neighborhood. Not much later, he was at the target address: 1313 13th Street. He snuck into the yard, found an adequate hiding spot in which he stashed the loot and the duffel bag. He then snuck back out of the yard and made his way to the next-to-nearest phonebooth. He now had to work quickly, for it was getting late.

He dialed a number. The recipient's phone rang for a short while before being answered...

"Yeah, what?"

"Hello, can I please speak to Red Herring?"

* * *

They'd been partying up a storm since 18:00 in one of the wings at the Blake mansion, having wrapped up their most recent case. As usual, the case had involved some criminal enterprise, in this case, pirated audio cassettes, that involved an enforcer in a gimmicky monster costume that could project noise at ear-splitting levels. That, and a kooky, made-up legend of a vengeful sound technician from the fifties helped keep potential witnesses and passers-by in check. Of course, the meddling kids and their puppy had cracked the case through their usual combination of detective skills and dumb luck.

Hence the festivities. Daphne had gone all-out, even by her standards. They'd enjoyed a Stinkweed movie in the new theatre, followed by a private concert by Buddy Chillner – who was there as a personal favor to Daphne – followed by a jaunt through the newly-built waterpark.

It was now going on to 23:00 and the party had moved to a wing that had been converted to a disco. Here, the music was lively, and so was Velma as she boogied away to the beats. Everyone but her friends would have been surprised at her current vigorous activity. Everyone but her friends did not understand that she was more than just a studious academic and was as capable as anyone else of cutting loose and enjoying herself.

Such was currently the case as she had the rest of the group in awe as they watched her spin and twist, gyrate and sashay to Bobby Brown belting out 'On Our Own'.

A somewhat older and larger pup named Scooby-Doo was especially vocal in his encouragement: "Rho Relma! Rho Relma! Ret Rusy!"

"Like, wow!" echoed Shaggy while clapping and whooping to the beat. "There's no-one out there who can tear up a dancefloor like our Velma!"

"Yeah!" concurred Freddy. "The only one who would stand a chance would be Sasquatch's sister-in-law after she beat the hip-hop alien from Saturn in the final of the last interplanetary dance-off held in the Himalayas!"

"Gee, Freddy," retorted Daphne in a weary monotone. "It's just such a pity that she can't be here to challenge our Velma."

"I know, hey?" answered Freddy, oblivious as ever, to which Daphne could only close her eyes, shake her head, and wonder for the umpteenth time why she considered him one of her best friends.

"Oh _Children_?" Mrs. Blake entered the wing, greeting them in her somewhat affected accent. "It's getting rather late now. Whatsay we wrap things up soon and relieve Jenkins from his DJ'ing duties? Dawson has prepared your sleeping quarters over in the south wing, so you're all set."

"Oh, but Mother!" protested Daphne. "The party's only just getting started! Can't we stay up a bit longer?"

"But Daphne Dear! Your beauty sleep will be cut short. Are you willing to live with that?" There was a pronounced tremble in her voice as she asked that question.

It was an event rare enough to be considered jaw-droppingly life-affirming when Daphne responded: "But Mother! These are my friends and they're worth an hour or two of lost beauty sleep!"

A lengthy pause followed. Freddy was the first to react. He got right into Daphne's face with: "OK, you alien imposter! Where's the real Daphne and what do you plan on doing with her? _TALK_ , you extra-terrestrial fiend!"

Velma was next to react. In no time she was next to Daphne and had popped a thermometer into the redhead's mouth before grabbing her wrist to check her pulse. "Jinkies, her vitals _appear_ to be normal," she concluded, "but perhaps more comprehensive testing might be necessary." The diminutive prodigy was already fitting on a pair of latex gloves as she spoke the last part.

"Guys! There's nothing wrong with me!" insisted Daphne as she spat out the thermometer. "Can't I just have more of a good time with my best friends in the world?"

"Well…" hesitated Freddy, trying for a plausible explanation for his overreaction, before settling on: "I knew that!"

"Like, thank goodness!" Shaggy proclaimed with an arch sigh. "My heart barely survived this last mystery! Two mysteries in the same day would have killed me!"

"Reah! Rou sraid it!" affirmed Scooby.

Mrs. Blake had a chuckle at the silliness that she'd witnessed, then conceded: "Very well, Children. One more hour. Enjoy!" She then left to their calls of thanks and gratitude.

As she left, the party picked up again with Jenkins spinning Culture Club's 'Move Away' which got an instant reaction from Velma and Shaggy as they voiced their approval over each other.

"Jinkies! What an exemplary musical composition!"

"Like, this song really makes me want to move my feet!"

Instantly, the genius and the bottomless pit were at it on the dancefloor. It started out similar to a dance-off, but very soon their competitive smirks softened to smiles of encouragement as Shaggy and Velma started dancing with – instead of against – each other. Shaggy's style was characterized by his rubbery legs and rapid, almost tap-dancing, footwork that could keep up with any tempo. Velma reverted to her usual hybrid style of wild hip-hop tempered with slower, robotic movements. The more they danced, the more they seemed to be enjoying each other's fellowship.

The rest in the room were also taken in by the dancing spectacle.

"Rho Raggy!" shouted Scooby. "Rake rat runny-raker!"

Freddy and Daphne were split between Shaggy and Velma. Jenkins made it a tie, even if his wording left much to desire. "Go Miss Dinkley! Go Miss Dinkley!" he shouted from behind the decks while punching the air above him.

" _CHILDREN!_ " Mrs. Blake had returned, her sharper voice conveying more urgency this time. " _MAY I PLEASE HAVE YOUR ATTENTION?_ "

Her projection cut right through the festivities and ensured that all attention was focussed on her.

"Freddy," she looked towards the blonde boy, "I just received a call from your mother. You need to get home immediately. Some emergency, she said."

Freddy's reaction suggested he was fearing the worst…as only he could fear it. "Oh no!" he began hysterically. "Alien invaders from the sun's core have arrived to abduct my family and replace them with cyborgs to observe the earth to prepare for the upcoming invasion!"

"Gee Freddy," Daphne deadpanned, "they couldn't have chosen a more intelligent host."

Before Freddy could respond in kind, Daphne turned her attention to the rest of the group: "Hey Guys, how about we accompany Freddy to his home?"

"Jinkies, yes!" agreed Velma. "If it's an emergency, then he will need all our moral support!"

"Like, as long as there are no ghosts and spooks involved!" added a suddenly chattering Shaggy.

"Reah, rho-o-o-o ronsters!" Scooby insisted just as vehemently.

"Then it's settled!" declared Mrs. Blake. Then away from the room, she bellowed: " _DAWSON!_ "

**xxXXXxx**

They arrived by limousine at Jones's residence to find police vehicles parked around the property. A detective was questioning Freddy's parents, while CSU techs were processing the area, mostly dusting for prints and looking for fiber samples.

"Mom! Dad!" yelled Freddy as he demanded that the patrolman at the perimeter let him in. The commotion caught the lead detective's attention, and she waved him in. Freddy needed no second invitation as he rushed towards his parents, only to be halted by the detective.

The gesture didn't sit well with Freddy, who asked his parents: "Mom! Dad! What's the emergency? Why are the police here?"

"By way of an explanation, Freddy's father said to him: "Son, this is Detective McChokem-Childe...and she has a few questions for you."

The detective's gruff exterior betrayed a similar interior as she straight away began her questioning, with notepad and pen in hand. "Son, where were you this afternoon."

The suddenness of the question caught Freddy unawares as he stammered for what should have been an easy answer: he was with his friends for most of the day."

"Uh-Huh!" the detective commented dryly. "And when during the day were you not with your friends!"

He answered that one equally uncertainly, citing the get-together at the Blakes and how he was out of anyone's sight when he went home to collect his things for the overnight shindig. Around four till five-thirty when Jenkins arrived to pick him up for the party.

At that answer, Detective McChokem-Childe looked up from her notepad, her interest suddenly piqued. "And was anyone with you at the time?"

Freddy's easygoing nature was fast slipping as he answered uncertainly, almost fearfully: "Well, no. My parents were still at work, but they knew where I was headed and—"

"Detective!" interrupted a tech. "Look what we found! Hidden in the backyard!" He handed a small cloth bag to the detective, who opened it, examined its contents, then smiled a potent smile at Freddy.

"And you've never seen any of this before?" she asked as she produced a necklace from the bag for his perusal. "One of the items reported stolen from the robbery at Marathon Jewellers this afternoon. Care to explain how it came into your possession?"

Freddy's ability to enunciate abandoned him, leaving behind a gibbering shell.

From outside the perimeter, his friends could see that the situation wasn't good for Freddy even though they couldn't hear what was spoken.

"What luck! Jones getting busted for robbery!" they heard the derisive voice approaching them from behind. They turned to see Red Herring come to view the spectacle. He didn't wait for any comments as he continued: "Maybe now he'll realize all the crap he put me through by blaming everything on me!" He still wasn't done as he turned his attention over the barricade and shouted to Freddy: " _Hey, Jones! How's it feel to be on the other side when nobody believes you!_ "

"Like, Red," Shaggy admonished, "that's not very funny!"

"The hell it isn't!" countered Red. "It's hilarious! Especially since I'm the one who tipped off the cops on him!"

Shaggy, Velma, Daphne and Scooby still didn't have time to be angry at Red; the sight of Freddy being handcuffed was more shock than they could handle.


	2. You Make Do With What You've Got

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI: There's a new fiend in Coolsville with formidable powers. A villain who has anticipated the intervention of a group of young detectives and is doing unto them before they do unto it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the brainchild of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.

"Red! How could you!" Daphne's disbelief reflected the entire group's sentiment. "Admit it! You framed Freddy for whatever it is he's getting arrested for!"

"Reah!" added the talking dog. "Rat's row, even fror ryou!"

To which Red raised his hands and protested: "Cool your jets, Blake! I was just doing my civic duty!"

"Explain!" chimed Velma in a quiet but firm voice. Her tone suggested that Red would have to provide a truthful answer or there would be hell to pay. Red picked up on that particular subtext as he began his explanation.

"Well…late this afternoon I get this mystery call.."

_**xxXXXxx**_

" _Yeah, what!" Red Herring took the call sometime between five and five-thirty that afternoon, with all the social etiquette for which he was renowned._

" _Red Herring," an altered voice spoke on the other side. "A robbery took place about an hour ago at Marathon Jewellers."_

" _Screw you, whoever you are! I didn't do it!" Then, after a pause too short for the caller to follow up, he continued: "Jones, is this you? You trying to yank my chain again?"_

" _No. And no," the voice sounded unperturbed by any of Red's outbursts. "But I happen to know the location of the items that were stolen from the robbery. I happen to know that they can be found at 1313 13_ _th_ _Street."_

" _1313…that's Jones's house!" cried Red as the realization dawned on him._

" _I knew you'd catch on," the voice commented, before moving along a tangent. "By the way, it seems rather poetic, doesn't it? You getting a chance to get one back on Freddy Jones with all those crazy allegations he's made against you. And guess what? You'll be telling the truth!"_

" _Yeah.." reflected Red. "Yeah! Maybe I'll shut that idiot up for once! Stop him from coming after me ever again!"_

_Whereupon the caller hung up, leaving Red confused for all of five seconds before he dialed another number._

" _Coolsville PD, How can I help you?"_

" _Yeah, I've got a lead for you on this afternoon's robbery at Marathon Jewellers.."_

**xxXXXxx**

"Like, not cool, Red!" berated Shaggy in the here and now. "Not cool at all!"

"Yeah, so?" Red was as unapologetic as ever. "Let him feel what it's like to be the one accused of a crime! I'll bet he's crapping his pants right now, thinking he'll be doing hard time!"

"Not if I can help it!" uttered a suddenly resolute Daphne, before she turned towards the limousine that brought them to the scene. "DAWSON!" she bellowed, and the butler's response was instant.

"Yes, Miss Blake," the loyal manservant softly spoke.

"Freddy's in trouble and needs a lawyer," explained the rich girl, with a hint of concern in her voice and eyes that almost went undetected. "See to it, please."

"Right away, Miss Blake," Dawson spoke before zipping away in a smear of color.

"Like Daphne, I don't think Freddy can afford a lawyer," expressed a doubtful Shaggy.

"Not to worry," reassured Daphne. "This was Daddy's idea. A lawyer on retainer for the detective agency, just in case we ever get the wrong person arrested."

"Row! Re throught of everythring," remarked Scooby.

At that point, Dawson zipped back, holding a man aloft by his shirt collar. "Here you go, Miss Blake," he commented as he set the man down.

"That will be all, Dawson. We may be here for a while yet. I'll call when you're required."

"Yes, Miss Blake" acknowledged Dawson before zipping away. This left the gang, Red and the man brought in. Said man looked stood around 5'10" and resembled a poorly impersonated James Woods as he introduced himself: "Hiya Kiddos! Howie Cheatham of the Dewey Cheatham & Howe law firm! What seems to be the problem?"

Daphne then explained Freddy's predicament to the lawyer, who then thought over what he'd been told before confidently announcing: "Not to worry, kids! I'll have him ROR in no time!"

"Mister Cheatham," asked Velma, "if I may ask…given that the police are effecting Freddy's arrest, what forms the basis of you believing in his innocence?"

Red interjected: "Because he's too stupid to come up with such a plan!"

Everyone glared at Red in utmost disapproval. Everyone except Howie Cheatham, who commented: "Actually, I was thinking more of an insanity defence, but stupidity can work too."

"Another question," the tiny girl continued. "When do you intend to have him arraigned, given that it's now early Saturday morning and the courts only reconvene on Monday morning?"

The attorney was taken aback by Velma's observation, though his sleazy professionalism stopped him from fully acknowledging his oversight. "Anyway…now if you don't mind, I need to meet with my client."

With that, Cheatham left the group and entered the crime scene towards his client.

"So what do we know about the robbery anyway?" asked Daphne once the group was left alone.

Velma took it as her cue to get cracking. She produced her briefcase – the one without which she never left home – and popped it open. Out sprang what looked like God's own supercomputer, occupying a vast area. Off to work she sprang, typing into the keyboard.

"Dinkley, I gotta ask," Red was still sticking with the group despite their obvious antipathy towards him. "How are you able to stuff such a big thing into such a small case?"

Velma barely glanced at him as she continued entering her inputs. "That depends, Red. How familiar are you with Banach Spaces, Non-Linear Mapping, and the Dirac-Delta function?"

"Errrr…never mind," retracted Red, to the gleeful sniggering from everyone but Velma who was too engrossed in the work. Though to be fair, those sniggering had just as little idea as Red Herring about the Math concepts Velma had referenced. Red had no time to declare the situation not very funny before Velma announced, " _Aha!_ Here we go!"

On the announcement, everyone including Red gathered around the display. Velma's supercomputer lived up to its name as it conjured up news reports, newspaper articles, police reports, even timestamped surveillance footage from the jewelry store. And _that's_ what made them realize the capabilities of the criminal.

"Zoiks!" exclaimed Shaggy. "He just shattered the glass without even touching it!"

"And look at how he similarly incapacitates the staff and the patrons with no physical contact!" added Velma.

"Eeew! Look at that tacky, grungy ensemble! I'm surprised they let him in at all!" That was Daphne's contribution. "And that mask! That can't be Freddy!"

"Reah, rou _rould_ row, Raphne," stated Scooby on behalf of all assembled, even Red.

Daphne suddenly felt the weight of their curiosity as she stifled a blush and replied in a tone verging on defensive: "Well… _look_ at the mask! Freddy wouldn't go with a design like that! I'd expect him to go with a Bigfoot mask, or Frankenstein, or…or… _whatever_!" Again, there was a whiff of emotion in her voice toward the end of the sentence. Thankfully for her, the congregation was more interested in her logic than her feelings.

"But you gotta admit. The guy on screen…that can't be Freddy. He's too tall, at least 6 feet!" This was Shaggy's assessment.

"Five feet and ten inches, to be precise," corrected Velma out of habit, "but still significantly taller than Freddy."

"Oh come on, you two!" Red Herring rebutted. "How many monsters have you guys caught that were just some weenie inside some big-ass costume?"

Red and his statement would have yet again been in poor taste had the point he raised not been a valid one. Of course, validity doesn't always equate with popularity, as was the current case. Daphne remained staunch in her defence. "I'm telling you, Freddy didn't do it!"

"Re relieve rou, Raphne," answered the puppy.

"But like, who did?" Shaggy asked the pressing question. "We saw the timestamps on the videos. The man…ghost…monster…whatever it is…it left the store at 16:10. Freddy's usually home alone at that time because both his parents work."

His statement was met by a somber silence before Velma responded. "That would give him a maximum of eighty minutes to plant the contraband and inform Red of its location."

"He could have taken the abandoned subway tunnel to the neighborhood without being seen." Red's suggestion was – understandably – met with suspicion by the rest.

"Arandoned rubway?" queried the little Great Dane.

"No, abandoned subway! It runs below the whole city, takes you anywhere. You just gotta know the layout."

Suddenly every eye in the immediate vicinity was pointed his way: no pair conveyed appreciation; suspicion abounded.

"Yeah, _what_?" Red Herring glared back at them.

"Oh, I don't know, Red!" explained Daphne. "How do you happen to know about such a detail?"

"Hey, I'm a delinquent. I'm _supposed_ to know all the shortcuts and backroads. It's in our charter."

Velma at least took him on his word and went back to inputting into her computer. A few seconds later: "Jinkies! Look at this!"

'This' was a map of Coolsville with the abandoned subway system laid over it. Also pinpointed on the map where the jewelry store and Freddy's home. "Red is correct!" the little one continued. "There's an access point near the robbery scene, and another one close to Freddy's. I'm loath to say it, but Red's hypothesis is a sound one."

The display wasn't lying: it showed exactly what its owner had stated. But the boy called Red Herring wasn't yet done. "Now check for any payphones in the area."

"Let me guess," ventured Shaggy. "The prank calling section of the delinquent handbook?"

Red let that question go unanswered. Velma too, as she silently input the necessary filters and parameters. Suddenly, more dots appeared, each one signaling a payphone within the neighborhood. The gang and Red then studied the output for a bit before the burly bully pinpointing a dot and announcing: " _That_ one. That's the one he called from!"

The stares he garnered from the rest – even Velma – suggested that he had figured out the final digit of pi, such was their shock. Daphne spoke for the group's skepticism with: "And how exactly did you figure that out?"

"Whoever did this was on a clock. After Jones's place, he'd need to get to a payphone close by. But not the closest as he knew it'd be the first place any investigator would look at. So he'd choose the _next_ closest one to at least buy him some time with the cops."

And try as they did, no-one could poke any holes in Red's theory. They eventually conceded that his lead was better than nothing. And since the police were convinced that they had their perp and would most likely be closing the case, the remnants of the Scooby-Doo Detective Agency had to pick up the slack. Next stop: the payphone.

Velma closed her suitcase to pack away the supercomputer, before reopening it to retrieve her motorized longboard. The detectives hopped onboard, some more eagerly than others. Red was denied access.

"Hey, what gives?" the redhaired bully asked.

"Look, Red," explained Daphne. "You helping us and us appreciating your help doesn't make us friends all of a sudden. You're still the one who ratted out Freddy. Come to think of it, why did you even help us?"

"I never wanted Jones to go to jail! I just wanted him to _think_ he was going to jail. And now shit has gotten real so I…I…I.."

"You've developed a conscience, haven't you?" asked a wry Velma.

"Ron't rorry, Red! Re ron't rell!" assured Scooby with one of his trademark giggles.

Velma then pressed on the gas and off they sped to their destination, leaving behind an indignant Red Herring.

"Like, OK," exhaled Shaggy on the board. "I know I'm going to regret this, but we've got to look into this case. For Freddy!"

* * *

The gang's departure from the scene was observed by a mysterious figure. Although too far away to hear what was spoken among the remaining detectives and Red Herring, the mystery person didn't need to hear anything; their next move was a given. So the figure left the scene, not wanting to disappoint the crimefighters.

That would just be rude.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that. chapter 2 is done! Thank you for reading and (hopefully...) enjoying so far. Please let me know your thoughts; I promise I won't bite. Anyway, one of my main goals with this chapter was to develop Red Herring. Not necessarily make him likable or sympathetic, but add some depth to his character and make him useful to the detectives. Also, I'm am playing in the universe and logic of APNSD in which the kids were allowed to venture unsupervised almost all the time. That way, I had no qualms having them decide to begin their investigation at an ungodly hour without an adult in sight.
> 
> I suppose some explaining is in order regarding what Velma told Red:
> 
> A Banach Space is a complete normed vector space, but that's not the important part for my purposes. What I'm more interested in is the mathematician after whom these spaces are named: Stefan Banach. Specifically, I'm interested in the fact that he was able to prove that there is a way to cut up the earth in such a way so as to put it back together so that it would be the size of a pea. Conversely, he was also able to prove that a pea could be cut up in such a way that putting it back together would make it bigger than the earth. Non-Linear Mapping is a method of reducing multi-variable (multidimensional) problems down to two dimensions. Finally, the Dirac-Delta Function is a function equal to infinity at one point, and zero everywhere else. It is, therefore, a perfect way to model a black hole in space.
> 
> I imagine Velma has found practical applications for all these aspects of Theoretical Mathematics that would enable her to fit anything and everything into her case.
> 
> And before I go, my Spotify list for this chapter:  
> Fletch Theme – Harold Faltermeyer  
> Hot Water – Level 42  
> I'll Stand By You – Pretenders  
> Should I Stay Or Should I Go? – The Clash


	3. Progress and Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI: Red divulges his involvement in Freddy's arrest, and afterward he helps the remaining detectives find a possible starting point for their investigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the initial brainchild of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.

"Like, here's the phone," spoke Shaggy as they arrived at their destination. It had been an especially harrowing journey with Velma keeping the throttle open and the error margins narrow. Not everybody would have thought such a reticent bluestocking capable of piloting a motorized longboard so quickly and so precisely. Not everyone was a good friend of hers. But even her good friends were left worried that she was taking just a few risks too many in terms of speed and cornering. And so it was that they alighted from the longboard with a mixture of relief and expectation.

"Reah, row rwhat?" asked Scooby in an unusually pragmatic fashion.

"I admit it's not much to work with," conceded Velma as they approached the payphone. "But given the paucity of clues at our disposal, it seems as good a place to begin as any other."

"Riiiiight!" the rest of the group droned, none of whom knew the meaning of the word 'paucity'.

"Well, it can't hurt dusting for prints," rebutted the soft-spoken genius as she produced a fingerprint kit and began her dusting. "Aw nuts!" she eventually concluded in defeat, having found not a single usable print, or _any_ print for that matter.

"Nothing, huh?" Shaggy commented.

"Affirmative," confirmed a frustrated Velma. "The booth and the phone itself have been wiped clean of any prints!" Shaggy then saw the disappointment behind Velma's glasses and offered a commiserating hand on her shoulder. "Like, don't sweat it, Velma. Who'd expect a ghost to leave fingerprints anyway?"

Then it dawned _hard_ on the green-garbed gourmand: "Did I just say 'ghost'? _ZOIKS!_ I forgot we're dealing with a supernatural being!"

He then assumed his usual fearful pose comprising extreme shivers, wobbly legs, and high-pitched whimpering. He was joined by his puppy as the canine too realized the nature of the adversary. "Raggy, rye do ryou rave to remind us row?"

"Oh, _you_ two!" Daphne admonished. "He may be able to shatter glass without touching it, or…" – her voice started wavering as she too realized their opponent's capabilities – "or knocking people out from a distance…Whatever! He's not a ghost! He _must_ have left something behind!"

"That's assuming that he even used this phone," said Velma.

"One way to find out," Daphne responded before walking over to the phone, lifting the handset, then pressing the redial button. The number was dialed, and shortly there was ringing on the other side. Less shortly afterward, pickup.

"Red, is that you? _Do you know what fucking time it is? Your mother and I ain't helping you this time! You can walk home, wherever you are!_ "

The utterance left Daphne shocked as she recoiled away from the receiver and hurriedly replaced it. "That was the Herring house. So our fiend definitely used this phone," was all she was willing to offer.

She was about to turn away from the phone before: "Hold on, what's this?"

Her attention was held by a long fiber nestled inbetween the buttons. "Curious," she mused as she retrieved and inspected it with intent.

"Like, what, Daphne?" Shaggy prodded her for an explanation.

"Reah," complemented Scooby. "Rid rou rind a rue?"

"Shush, you two!" was her immediate response. "Give me a moment!" They granted her the moment, during which she continued inspecting the thread with her usual critical eye for fashion and feel for fabrics.

"Jinkies!" the young fashionista exclaimed to gasps all around.

"Daphne, did you find a clue?" asked Velma, too excited to be irked at having her catchphrase plagiarized.

At which point, young Daphne held out the thread for everyone's perusal. "Maybe," she mulled. "I've never felt fabric like this before! It's like a cross between Lycra, Kevlar, Gore-Tex, and silk."

"That's impressive!" yelped Velma. "A fabric that's lightweight, flexible, breathable, has a very high tensile strength, and is even stab and bullet resistant!" Her eyes were wide and sparkly as she listed the fabric's properties, her voice positively giddy. She almost sounded in admiration of the specter! She noticed the quizzical looks of her cohorts expressing that much, before shaking sense back into her head.

Daphne took it as her cue to continue. "Only thing is…I don't know of any fashion house or any labs coming up with anything like _this_."

"So you're saying someone cooked this up in a lab?" asked Shaggy.

"Exactly!" concurred Daphne. "But here's the thing. It doesn't feel like a combination of those fabrics." – She made a show of rolling the thread between her thumb and index finger – "It's more like a single unique fabric."

"As if somebody _invented_ this from scratch!" replied Velma. "So we're dealing with a genius inventor who's branched out into criminal enterprises."

"Look," added Shaggy with a raised hand. "It's all good to know what he is, but shouldn't we be more interested in _where_ he is?" Followed by instant regret: "Oh, why did I just ask that question?"

"Rumbass!" scolded his puppy.

"Maybe," Velma appeared to be in agreement, "but he raises a valid point." Then again, maybe not, as she then turned to the pup: "Scooby, can you perhaps try and get a scent from that phone. Something we can track?"

Usually at this point, Scooby would resolutely resist the potentially life-threatening prospect of actively pursuing a seemingly deadly being. He would then be cajoled with at least one Scooby Snack. This time was different, given that he had earlier witnessed how the being shattered armored glass cases and subdued bystanders, all with zero physical contact. He had thus decided that no amount of the snacks would appease him. As though aware of his doubts, Daphne moved in on him with an unusual pleading look. "Scooby," she began with uncharacteristic empathy, "I know you're scared. We all are, even if _I_ myself believe there are no such things as ghosts." She moved next to him and placed a hand on his head as she continued. "But Freddy.." – she accidentally allowed her voice to quiver upon mentioning Freddy's name – "…he's in real trouble right now and if we don't get to the bottom of this, then I'm afraid.."

She left the rest of the statement unspoken, but Scooby mentally filled in the blanks. "Raphne, ryou rike him, ron't ryou?"

That's not to say that his logic and Daphne's were necessarily the same.

Anyway, Daphne's flushed expression was all answer he needed to answer: "Rokay, Raphne! Rhyme in!"

* * *

So it was that a pup named Scooby-Doo sniffed around the public phone. So it was that he picked up a scent that stood out from those he'd normally associate with the neighborhood. That particular scent was distinct from the usual verdant scents. This one was old, dank, almost…underground and decaying.

The robber!

"Like, makes sense if he got here via the abandoned subway!" Shaggy had proclaimed.

"I hate to say it, but Red called it!" Daphne had added.

And so it was that Scooby tracked the scent…all the way back to Freddie's house. The bustle they found on their first arrival was no more. Apparently, the investigation had been concluded, though the property was still cordoned off with crime scene tape. In front of the yard stood a blue Chevrolet Caprice which Shaggy immediately recognized as an unmarked Coolsville PD vehicle.

Not that any of that meant anything to his friends, especially Velma who had other matters on her mind: "Oh, not good," she fretted. "All we've done is establish that it was the robber who planted the evidence at Freddy's house before heading for the payphone."

"Hmm," replied Scooby, "Rhyme rot roh rertain, Relma!"

"Whatever do you mean, Scooby?" Velma asked, interested in whatever hypothesis the canine had to offer.

Through his speech impediment, the pup named Scooby-Doo explained that he was picking up two distinct trails of the same scent. He then explained that he had mapped out a timeline in which the robber had been here earlier to dump his loot, before leaving to make the phone call, then…

"You mean," gulped Shaggy, suddenly very apprehensive, "he was here while Freddy was being arrested?"

Suddenly his friends were just as apprehensive. Velma broke the tense silence with: "I daresay he was here to gauge our reactions."

Everyone else nodded in agreement.

"I further daresay.." – her calm front was starting to slip – "that he followed us to the payphone to observe our methods."

Everyone else nodded in agreement.

"Finally.." – the little prodigy looked every bit as terrified by what she was about to say – "I daresay that he may at this moment be watching us."

Everyone, including the speaker, froze in fear. With Velma being Velma, her conclusions were never without merit. Silently and very, very suspiciously, they eyed the immediate surroundings.

Looking for something.

Scanning for anything.

Something.

Anything.

Movement.

Sound.

_Anything._

" _ **WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU KIDS DOING HERE?"**_

Shaggy, Scooby, and Velma, already tightly wound from uncertain, possibly imminent danger, all dove behind Daphne's back, the fear from being startled plainly and comically etched on their faces. Their collective expressions were marked by bulging eyeballs, mouths agape, and hair standing on end. Velma's hair had morphed into a spiky style that made her look like an 80's punk rocker from the UK. Shaggy, meanwhile, was now sporting a mohawk while Scooby had doubled in volume from all his fur standing on end. All were preparing for the worst when the voice's owner stepped into view.

" _Well?_ " the woman persisted with her questions even after coming into view. Daphne recognized her as the detective who earlier had interrogated Freddy before cuffing him. She made that much known.

"That's _Detective_ McChokem-Childe to you lot!" the detective brusquely corrected. She was slightly built, like an older and stricter version of Jodie Foster. "Now answer my question!" she continued. "Why are you here? This is still a crime scene!"

Daphne saw that she'd had been made the de facto group spokesperson and resigned herself to answering on their behalf. She recalled the gang's investigation:

1) The possibility that the robber made it from the jewelry store to the suburb via the abandoned subway tunnel network.

2) How he could have planted the loot at Freddy's to frame him.

3) The now-plausible contention that he fed Red Herring the bogus information about their friend, because Red would jump at the chance to rat Freddy out.

4) The now-equally plausible notion that the creep was stalking them.

Daphne concluded her summary, hoping that she and the rest had profoundly impressed the detective with their own investigations and its revelations. Instead, however…

"Well _have_ a looky-loo _here_!" – Not a good start – "We got ourselves a bunch of play detectives! Seriously, isn't it way past your bedtimes?"

"But we picked up evidence you can use to narrow your pursuit on him!" Velma took over from pleading their case.

"Great! Just what we police need!" McChokem-Childe remained dismissive. "So-called evidence obtained outside the chain of custody! And do you really think that thread of super-fabric is going to get us anywhere?"

"But like, what about the scent that Scooby picked up and followed?" added Shaggy.

"Ah, yes. Proving that whoever It belonged to, was indeed underground. Along with who knows how many more junkies, bums and other lowlifes!"

"Hey, that's not fair!" Shaggy rebutted. "You're a police officer! You're supposed to follow up on any citizen's complaint! It's in your charter!"

"And I suppose daddy told you about that, didn't he?" McChokem-Childe derided, _harshly_. "Look, you may have helped us collar a few felons, but that was dumb luck! You think you're doing us a service? You're not! You got all the detectives at the precinct pissed off at how you make a joke of the work they do!"

The group was well taken aback, but the detective wasn't done yet.

"We're talking people who studied, and trained, and worked their asses off to be where they are! And here you meddling kids and your damn puppy make us look like idiots! And if it weren't for your _dad_ , Captain Rogers," – she pointed specifically at Shaggy – "vouching for you at the review board, you'd all be canned a long time ago!"

And in an earth-shattering moment rivaling the parting of the Red Sea, Shaggy held his nerve and stood his ground: "Like, whatever happened to the police and the community working together? That's what Captain Rogers, your _boss_ " – he pointed a finger back at her – "is all about! And we're just doing our part! For the community!"

And McChokem-Childe was momentarily rendered speechless, before improving to mild sputtering, until finally: "W-Well? It's late and you should be at home. Don't make me call your parents!"

Having blurted out the last word, a huffy McChokem-Childe made for her Caprice and screeched away from the scene. Afterward, Velma was especially impressed by Shaggy's gumption and made that much known.

"Jinkies, Shaggy! That was a most impressive display of valor!"

"What can I say?" he humbly replied with some residue of anger he'd had for the detective. "I care too much about you to let anyone talk down to us like that!"

And with that came a complication. Shaggy had meant ' _you_ ' as a plural noun, and the word was interpreted as such by all of his assembled friends…

…except Velma, who only heard _'I care too much about you..'_ before giving way to an intense blush.

"Velma?" called Daphne. "Are you OK? Your face is looking very flushed."

"Reah, really rushed!" Scooby reinforced.

Velma was barely able to save the situation as she rambled: "It's nothing. I…I…I must be exhausted. It's been a long day and I'm in need of some quality REM sleep."

"Good point!" nodded Daphne. "I think we should call it a morning. We can visit Freddy at the station later today."

She then hollered into the distance: " _DAWSON!_ "

And instantly, the manservant arrived in the limousine, ready to drive the party back to the Blake residence for some much-needed rest.

Daphne still had one more question as they drove away: "Say, If the police were done with the crime scene, why was that detective still there?"

* * *

_Damn that detective_ , the figure cursed to himself.

Just as he was planning to strike another blow to the junior detectives, she had to run interference and ruin the whole thing! But then he thought it over for a bit before deciding that the plan could still be salvaged.

So stage two was merely set back. It would have to be altered, but it wouldn't be scrapped.

Plus, he knew where they'd be for the rest of the morning, and he knew where they'd be heading later during the day.

All part of the plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for this chapter, Ladies and Gentlemen. Thank you profusely for reading and (hopefully, possibly?) enjoying this chapter and the story. Hopefully, I'm still on track with my goal as stated in Chapter 1. This chapter was particularly interesting as I was looking for ways of having the characters bring their respective strengths to the fore; we couldn't have Velma do all the heavy lifting, could we? I suppose then that this chapter was also about creating and displaying synergy within the group.
> 
> Anyway, please comment on the work. I'm most interested in reading your thoughts.
> 
> You may have also noticed an F-bomb in a T-rated work. That's because I write my T-rated works according to the guidelines of the BBFC's 12A rating, which allows for moderate bad language, and also occasional, contextually justifiable strong bad language. Just so you know, by 'bad language' I don't mean stuff like split infinitives or dangling participles. I'm also channeling the MPAA's PG-13 rating which allows for one f-bomb as long as it isn't used in a sexual context.
> 
> And here's this chapter's Spotify list:
> 
> Shakedown – Bob Seger  
> Step It Up – Stereo MC's  
> Young Disciples Theme – Young Disciples
> 
> With that, I bid you adieu until the next chapter.


	4. Who Can You Trust?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI: The remaining gang uncovers clues that cast doubt over Freddy's arrest, to a cold reception from the lead detective. But is the perpetrator closer than anyone realizes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the brainchildren of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.

They got what little sleep they could at Daphne's place. Saturday's daybreak saw the quartet wake up barely refreshed. Normally they'd be in front of the TV devouring the Saturday morning cartoon lineup, but today was different in both mood and circumstance. So instead, they found themselves discussing their findings over breakfast in the kitchen. The mood was somber, so much so in the case of Shaggy and Scooby that neither had much of an appetite. Between the two of them, they could barely manage ten pounds of bacon, eggs, flapjacks, and French toast. A point that did not go unnoticed.

"Jinkies, you two!" exclaimed Velma. "Are you alright? You barely touched your food!"

"Yes indeed," concurred Daphne. "I know you're worried about Freddy. We _all_ are. But moping around and barely eating isn't going to help. We'll need our strength in case the day gets busy."

"But like, where do we go from here? Earlier we picked up some good clues and the detective threw it back in our faces," rebutted Shaggy.

"Oh yes, but you were so brave, the way in which you told her off.." Velma complimented Shaggy on his resolve. Shaggy would have noticed her dreamy looking eyes as she paid the compliment, but Daphne diverted his and everyone else's attention with: "There's still the question about what the detective was doing at a crime scene _after_ the investigation was supposed to be concluded."

"Mmm," Velma remarked. "Daphne, you raise a valid point. What was she hoping to find that several technicians couldn't?"

"Roh great!" grumbled the anthropomorphic canine. "Row _I'm_ rurious!"

To which Daphne asserted: "Then that settles it! We'll pay Freddy's house a visit! Maybe we'll get a lead towards helping him!" She then turned to Scooby to address him specifically. "Oh, Scooby! I'm so thrilled you're this eager to help our friend!"

Scooby gulped heavily.

"There's always a chance we might encounter that creep. And you're willing to take that chance? Without me even having you to offer you a Scooby Snack?"

Scooby gulped again as the realization hit him.

"Dumbass!" Shaggy growled at him, throwing the puppy's insult from earlier that morning, right back at him.

"But first," the fashion diva announced, "how about we visit Freddy at the lockup? See how he's doing."

* * *

To the relieved surprise of all concerned, they found Freddy in good health, if not spirit. They were waiting in Captain Rogers' office when their conspiracy theorist of a friend was walked into the room, guided by a uniformed officer.

"Freddy!" exclaimed Daphne, seeming that bit happier than her friends – who were already overjoyed as it was – to see him again. And before Daphne could realize it, she felt a tear well on the side of one of her eyes. She was once again lucky enough that her friends were too preoccupied to notice her little display of emotion. They were too preoccupied with asking Freddy about his current conditions.

"It's not too bad," he conceded.

"Are you sure, Freddy?" Velma pushed for the truth. "Considering that you're a minor and for some bizarre reason you haven't been released into your parents' custody."

"Ah," interjected Captain Rogers. "That's only decided at the arraignment."

"But a weekend in a cell surrounded by adult jailbirds?" added Shaggy. "Like, how can he be OK?"

"Actually," Freddy began his explanation. "That's not the case. I have the holding cell to myself."

"Ruh!" Scooby exclaimed for all the civilians' confusion. "Row rid rat rappen?"

"Maybe it's best if I explain…" the Captain offered. He then launched into a tale of how Freddie was booked and processed, then thrown into a cell full of adult men in the same situation. His cellmates then started taunting him over what he could have done to be with them. Freddy started his story innocuously enough about the – obviously – planted loot at his home. But then things took a bizarre turn and he strayed into the topic of his National Exaggerator collection and all the stories and conspiracies in which he believed.

Especially the article involving Bigfoot…

…and the Mole People…

…and a coalition between the Mole People and the denizens of Saturn…

…trying to conquer the earth…

…through mind-controlling drugs placed in the milkshakes served at O' Greasy's restaurants…

…and it all became too much for the other jailbirds, all of whom desperately demanded being moved to another cell. Those that couldn't be accommodated, resorted to confessing to their crimes, even to some for which they weren't arrested.

"Turns out," Captain Rogers concluded, "we closed more cases this morning than we usually do in two weeks!"

As impressed at that fact as the detective troupe was, it was Daphne again who seemed the most impressed of all. "Oh my, _Freddy_! I never knew your kooky, crackpot brainstorms would ever be so useful!"

"Thanks, Daphne!" answered Freddy, before hesitating a bit and following up with: "I think."

"Like Freddy, we're on the case!" affirmed Shaggy. "We've got a few clues on the guy that put you here and we got another lead this morning!"

"That's news to me, Norville!" Captain Rogers said to his son. "Say, why don't you share what you've got with Detective McChokem-Childe? She's the lead detective on the case and I'm sure she'll be interested in knowing what you know."

Shaggy was briefly conflicted by his father's suggestion, though he quickly recovered and responded: "Erm, OK Pop. That sounds…like a good idea." He was trying to be diplomatic about the detective, given that he and the group were still sore over her attitude towards the case.

"Good to hear, Son! Her desk is in the north-east corner of this floor. I think she might still be there. Now, if you kids don't mind, I'm off to another interrogation. Another of Freddy's former cellmates."

Then to the officer: "Patrolman Ruegger, please escort the inmate back to his cell."

"And Kids?" – he then addressed the juvenile detectives – "Good luck. Off the record, I believe your friend is innocent. Just as much as I know you'll be able to clear him."

And so they left. Captain Rogers and the kids. Except for Daphne, who hesitated for a while at the doorway before returning to Freddy. At that very moment, she had no way of explaining what she was about to do. But before she could grasp and collate her motivations, she had returned into the room and taken Freddy's hands into hers. She had whispered wholeheartedly to him with no trace of her usual snark: "Don't worry, Freddy. We're on the case. You're going to be just fine."

And in a move to confound all of her logical faculties, she had leaned in on him for a kiss on his cheek. Before either of them had any time to reflect on her actions, she was gone. Freddy was left behind with his guard, feeling even more clueless than usual.

**xxXXXxx**

She returned to the group. To her relief, her tardiness went unnoticed. To her confusion, they were stood still at a corner, less interested in her and more interested in…well, whatever it was that had their full attention. Silently, Daphne slotted in behind them. She found herself staring with them around the corner into the open-plan, partitioned work area. Within the space, the detectives were abuzz among a din of reports being typed out, phones constantly ringing, and general admin work being administered.

"Guys, what's happening?" she asked.

"Shh!" Velma responded, irritated at the interruption. Scooby had taken point and was intently concentrating into the distance. Daphne stared too to determine the object of their interest.

_Objects_ , as it turned out: Detective McChokem-Childe was at her desk, having a vivid discussion with none other than Mister Cheatham, Freddy's lawyer. None of the kids could hear what was being discussed. But Scooby's superior hearing was picking up the exchange in crystal clear detail, and he was relaying what he heard to the rest.

" _This is all wrong! That Jones boy is too dumb for this!"_

" _Totally agree with you, Counsellor! How else do you think he got caught?"_

" _Oh cut the crap, Detective! He's too much of an idiot! You've heard those cockamamie stories he keeps telling! I'm having a hard time believing he's packing enough brainpower to be able to even breathe. And you want to believe that he's capable of planning and executing a major heist? On his own?"_

Scooby chuckled at that remark, as did his friends when he repeated it to them.

" _Blah blah blah! I still like him for the robbery."_

" _Based on what? The loot you found at his house? No DA will take this case on just that. I tell the grand jury it could all have been planted? Instant reasonable doubt!"_

The group nodded as they agreed: the lawyer was good.

" _See, that's where we differ, Counsellor. I want to solve this case. You just want to clear your client of the charges!"_

" _Last I checked, that's what we defence attorneys are supposed to do. Solving the case, now that's your burden, not mine."_

" _Screw you, Counsellor! Your client's guilty as sin. I'm close to nailing the little bastard! I can feel it!"_

Uh-oh! So much for the detective's professionalism. But she had another broadside.

" _And just how low have you sunk, Counsellor? Look at you! The great Howie Cheatham. Once the most vicious patent attorney in all of Coolsville, now look at you! Playing babysitter for Old Man Blake so that his precious little girl and her friends can run around pretending to be detectives!"_

"Roah! Rem's righting words!" Scooby whispered to the posse upon relaying the detective's utterance.

" _At least I'm still earning more than you, Detective. Same fee for less than half the work."_

"…Counselor _, if you're done here, you know where the exit is."_

**xxXXXxx**

The children were left to unpack what Scooby had just uncovered for them. They were sifting through the info and data, hoping that somewhere within lurked a clue, a pointer in the right direction.

"Like, McChokem-Childe is bent on sending Freddy to juvie!" began Shaggy.

"And she seems not above following protocol to achieve her goal," added Velma, sounding very concerned indeed.

"But you heard Freddy's lawyer. She's got a weak case!" Shaggy added further.

"Do you suppose that she was at the Jones' house earlier this morning," Velma speculated, sounding as if her logical reasoning – indeed, _she_ as well – was feeding off Shaggy's sudden burst of energy, "to examine the crime scene a bit more thoroughly?"

"Or maybe she was there to plant more evidence to help her get Freddy," suggested Shaggy, with an accompanying expression of struggling to stomach the notion that one of his father's subordinates could be crooked.

"Don't worry, Shaggy," Velma assured him, having caught on to his underlying sentiment. "She's probably just misguided." She emphasized her support of him with a hand on his hip, given that she was too short to reach his shoulders.

Shaggy looked down to her hand on his hip, then to her face where their eyes met for an awkward moment that seemed to last infinitely longer. They'd have maintained their gazes were it not for Daphne butting in with: "Then it's settled! We have to sneak into Fred's house to find out if there was anything more to what the police already found!"

Scooby's sigh reflected on his suggestion made earlier at Daphne's home.

"Rhyme ruch a rumbass..!"

* * *

The trip to Freddy's home was another exercise in holding one's nerve. For Velma, it was about keeping the throttle of the longboard open, but not too open lest they or any others would come off second best in any collisions. Her passengers, meanwhile, were trying to decide which was the overriding priority: getting to their destination quickly or getting there at all. As it turned out, Velma had the last word, so...

" _SLOW DOWN, VELMA!"_

" _LIKE, I FEEL MY BREAKFAST COMING BACK UP!"_

" _SROW ROWN! ROR ROD'S SRAKE, SROW ROOOOOWN!"_

…to which Velma was deaf anyway as she powered on.

They eventually arrived at the crime scene. Against their better judgment and the writ of law, they crossed the barrier tape into the forbidden area.

"Row rwhat?" asked Scooby.

"Like, yeah," Shaggy followed up. "What do we hope to find here that CPD's finest couldn't?"

"Maybe…something they didn't think to look for. Something they had no _reason_ to look for."

"Such as..?" queried Velma, having stashed the longboard back into the collection of black holes that lurked within her briefcase.

"Such as… _this!_ " answered Daphne as she produced a small ziplock plastic bag. In it rested a strand of dark fiber. "It's the fiber Scooby found at the payphone. I took the liberty of holding on to it…just in case," she explained.

"I get it!" Velma was first to catch on. "We show that the wearer of this fabric who made the call to Red is the same person who planted the evidence to frame Freddy!"

"And strengthen our case with McChokem-Childe!" added Shaggy.

"Exactly!" Daphne confirmed, before turning to the colloquial canine. "Scooby, I know it's a longshot, but could you match the scent of the thread anywhere else in the yard?"

Challenge accepted. "Rokay, ret re ravvit," responded Scooby. Though he had little on which to go, he was able to discern a distinct scent. And to work he went, scouring the yard for whatever would present itself. After not too long a while, Scooby hit paydirt. On a brick and mortar walkway in the backyard, he uncovered another thread with a similar scent.

He announced as much to the rest, especially to an overjoyed Velma. "Jinkies, Scooby! That was brilliant!" She wasted no time in pouncing upon the discovery with her ultra-high-powered magnifying glass.

"Double Jinkies! This is the same as the fabric from the payphone! Though it does seem to be more frayed than the former one."

But Daphne, ever the au courant, already knew the answer: "Easy! He was wearing clothes maybe a size too big, to throw off the investigation. Only thing is, the bottom of his pants constantly rides down till under his shoes. And against the hard brick surface, a few threads get scuffed off."

"That's it then!" It was Shaggy again. "Let's call in an anonymous tip to Detective McChokem-Childe and have her discover this herself!"

"Exactly right!" Daphne responded. "Then she'll run tests and find no match to the fibers of any of Freddy's clothes and.." – she paused at the inquisitive looks trained on her all of a sudden – "… _What?_ "

"I'm curious," smirked Velma, distracted from the group's prime objective. "Just how would you happen to know of the fiber composition of _all_ his apparel?"

"Reah, _row_?" sniggered Scooby, even though he had already pieced together the reason.

"Oh yes, Daphne. _I'd_ be curious to know as well..."

That last voice…that last voice wasn't Shaggy's…and everyone froze as a chill of dread befell the area. Slowly they turned around to determine the owner of the new voice. And quickly did they realize that they'd be better off not knowing. In front of them was the entity, fully decked out in his finest jewelry heist garb. Only this time, he was levitating above the ground.

The gang screamed and shrieked in abject fear as he slowly and methodically raised both his arms to his shoulder level, his open hands facing his quarry. "Boo," his quiet voice cut through their screeches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you go, wonderful readers! That's Chapter 4 for you! I hope you're enjoying the story and mystery so far. Let me know your thoughts so far; I'd be more than willing to read your thoughts. So anyway, one of my goals for this chapter was to portray Scooby as more than a comic sidekick whose bumbling saves the day. He's a dog - a talking dog, but a dog nonetheless - and as such his hearing and sense of smell is superior to those of humans. So I reckoned: why not put those attributes to good use? Again, your comments please on his portrayal.
> 
> Beyond Scooby, I also wanted to continue with my portrayal of the entire gang as essential parts of The Scooby-Doo Detective Agency, each with valuable contributions to the cause, even Freddy in all his buffoonery.
> 
> And yes, I may be taking a few liberties with the US justice system (Quiet at the back, those who shouted: "Only a few?") but then again, so does the series on which this story was based. And it features a talking dog that seems to age at a human rate.
> 
> Anyway, here's this chapter's Spotify list:  
> Top Of The Stairs – Skee-Lo  
> Automatic – The Pointer Sisters  
> Rat In Mi Kitchen – UB40
> 
> And that will do for now, dear readers. See you next chapter.


	5. Beyond Their Usual Scope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI: Having established that Freddy is still fine, the rest of the gang head back to his house to determine why McChokem-Childe was paying it another visit, only to get more than they expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the brainchildren of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.

This would have been the part where they'd run from the villain and in the ensuing series of comedic – in retrospect, always in comedic _retrospect_ – hijinks, they'd be able to escape by the skin of their teeth. The specter knew this: he'd had sufficient time to study the group and their patterns and habits. He knew, for instance, that those previous costumed criminals wanted only to intimidate the intrepid detectives into dropping an investigation, without injuring them. After all, why risk adding a felony or even misdemeanor assault charge to one's list of complications.

He was different: he was never going to be caught, so he didn't want merely to scare them off; he wanted to make them suffer. And now he had them.

**xxXXXxx**

Scooby and the gang were scared out of their wits by this being. There he was, levitating in front of them, blocking their escape. Then they watched as he raised his hands towards him, and calmly say "Boo", in contrast to their collective dread and panic. Shortly after the hand-raising gesture…that's when they started feeling _like, totally gnarly_ , according to Shaggy.

The nausea was first to manifest itself. Then came the light-headedness as their heads started lolling uncontrollably, their brains no longer willing or able to convey the most basic instructions. Instructions that included the maintaining of their balance, as everyone felt their knees buckling, unable or unwilling to maintain an upright posture. Down they went, one by one, the queasiness threatening to overwhelm them, their brains not acting in any form of self-preservation.

From there, it only got worse.

"Like, I can't stand up anymore!" yelled Shaggy as he collapsed to his knees.

Daphne and Velma weren't faring any better. At least Velma found a few seconds to issue an explanation: "Jinkies! He appears to be affecting our senses of balance!"

An astute observation, but ultimately futile as she and Daphne also succumbed to the vertigo. Down to their hands and knees they dropped too, which did nothing to alleviate the dizziness. Soon afterward, they were taken by further surprise when the windows closest to them shattered one by one. Thankfully, the glass was too far to land on them, but the shrill sound of it shattering only compounded their sense of impending dread.

Through it all, Scooby was taking the onslaught worst of all. The puppy was seen prostrate in the wake of the attack. His front legs were furiously and desperately covering his ears. It didn't seem to be doing him any good, as his distress was escalating towards a breaking point. A breaking point that took the form of a pained, doleful howl.

Shaggy picked up on Scooby's pain, which seemed over and above everything that the human victims were experiencing. " _SCOOBY_!" shouted the boy in green, despite his own hardship. " _SCOOBY-DOO!_ "

Scooby turned to Shaggy, and what the boy saw and heard was indeed heartrending, " _RAGGY!_ " began the pup while doing his best to shield his ears. " _IT RURTS, RAGGY! IT RURTS!_ " the pup whimpered in ever more desperation. " _RAKE IT ROP! RAKE IT ROOOOOP!_ "

Shaggy continued watching in helpless horror as his dog – his best friend – rose to his feet and started violently shaking his head in a vain attempt to escape the pain. The howling and whimpering continued until…suddenly it didn't. Scooby went rigid, his eyes glazed over and unresponsive. Then the bleeding began. The bleeding from his ears.

Velma and Daphne joined Shaggy in exclaiming their dismay at the dog's situation. " _SCOOBY_!" they all shouted. If Scooby had heard them, he gave no indication. Instead, his friends and foe watched him collapse into unconsciousness.

Only then did the dog's friends see their enemy lower his hands, apparently satisfied at a job well done.

"The great Scooby-Doo Detective Agency!" mocked the masked figure as he lorded over the downed detectives, proud of his achievement. "The biggest mystery is how a group of low-rent detective wannabes like you were able to solve any case, let alone cases that flummoxed the police!"

His downed targets paid his question no heed. Instead, they had a question of their own. "Who…who are you?" demanded Daphne, struggling to find her feet.

"And what do you want with us?", Velma followed up, equally disorientated.

"You disappoint me, Velma!" the figure showed further contempt to the bespectacled one. "And here I thought you were the supergenius of the team! Could it be that I have been able to finally flummox the great Velma Dinkley?"

He could see the confusion reflected in everyone's faces, at which he felt no small measure of satisfaction. To hell with answering their questions: soon it wouldn't matter anyway. He decided to refocus on the dog. Yes, that damned mutt whose dumb luck was always key in collaring the bad guys. He let himself slowly drop to the ground, then just as slowly approached the big little dog on foot.

"This?" he continued his derision. "This is the mutt that you depend on to bail you out of jams? Doesn't look like he's up for much right now, does it?"

To emphasize his point, the mystery man raised a foot over the helpless puppy and brought it down in a hefty stomp onto its midriff. Scooby winced as the sudden onset of pain in his ribcage started him back to consciousness. Though he was still conscious – to his friends' unending relief – he was still unable to move.

"You bastard!" Shaggy shouted at what he was witnessing. "Leave my dog alone!"

"Oh?" the specter's teasing was merciless. "I'm sorry, Norville! Robbing jewelry stores is fine, but kicking puppies is a no-go? Gotcha!"

He then made a show of kneeling alongside Scooby to pat the puppy's head. "Good doggie!" he spoofed in a cutesy voice. " _Who's_ a good doggie?" he continued as he started stroking Scooby's head and snout.

"Ruck…off!" Scooby weakly rebuked.

His adversary chose to ignore him. " _You're_ a good doggie! Yes you _are_! Yes you _AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH_!"

To his regret, as he felt the dog's fangs sink into his right forearm, where they remained solidly latched. Suddenly, he was no longer in control of the situation. Instead, he found himself now trying to fend off a feral, snarling puppy doing its damndest to take a chunk out of his forearm. And no amount of tugging and shaking was going to get it off of him.

So distracted was he that he hardly noticed the vain fashion maven issue an instruction to the genius: " _Now, Velma! Get us out of here!_ "

He had sufficient time as he struggled with the dog to realize – to his utmost surprise – that Daphne Blake was not one to be underestimated. Neither was that chickenshit Rogers, as the self-confessed coward charged in with a hard spear tackle that took the two of them plus the dog to the ground.

"Like, I told you! Leave. My. DOG! _ALONE_!" shouted Shaggy in rhythm with his punches as they intensified along with his words.

In the ensuing struggle, he felt how the Rogers kid rained down punch after punch wherever an opening existed. He also felt how the dog gave one last almighty yank on the forearm and managed to rip off a piece of his duster's sleeve.

" _Shaggy, think fast!"_ he heard Velma shout as she and Blake were on the longboard, fast heading their way. He then felt Rogers stop his barrage of punches to collect the dog instead. Rogers, in as fluid a motion as he could manage, picked up and cradled the mutt in his arms, before pulling away towards the approaching longboard. Somehow, he got his timing just right and was able to get onboard while still holding on to the dog and without Velma having to slow down.

He watched as they sped past him, out of the yard and into the street to make their escape.

_That's what you think_ , he thought maniacally.

* * *

" _Faster, Velma! Faster!"_ ordered Daphne for the umpteenth time.

" _Like, gun it, Velma!"_ added Shaggy for the just-as-many-eth time. _"Scooby needs a vet, right now!"_

And Velma, in a fit of fear and frustration, would reply: _"You two, shut up! I'm trying to put as much distance between us and him as I can!"_

The tiny one was furiously working the longboard's throttle and its steering mechanism for all their worth to get the hell away from their foe and his capabilities. She'd made the most of whatever head start they'd had. Going hell-for-leather down the suburban streets. Running every stop sign they encountered. Taking corners at full tilt. Easing off the throttle only when absolutely unavoidable.

Unfortunately…

"Velma," gulped Daphne while peering over her shoulder. "He's behind us! _He's chasing us and he's gaining!_ "

Velma could only take Daphne's words at face value, but their enemy was indeed in hot pursuit. He was airborne again, flying after them mere feet off the ground: an ultra-low-altitude Superman. "We'll have to shake him off," shouted Velma above the panic, really just stating the obvious. "Hang on tightly, everyone!"

She navigated the labyrinthine suburban road network to where it fed into a larger arterial dual carriageway. The road was busy, given that most of suburbia were on their way to do their weekly shopping.

"Hang on tight!" Velma instructed her passengers. "I'll try to shake him off in the traffic!"

"In the traffic? Velma, are you _nuts_?" Shaggy and Daphne yelled back. One look back at the fast-approaching specter, however, and they both quietly conceded that Velma's course of action was their best option.

Velma kept the taps open as she accelerated and weaved through the traffic, surviving several near-misses and making her posse as difficult a target as possible. But their pursuer was equal to the task as he kept pace with her evasive tactics.

They had left suburbia behind them and were now entering the industrial area replete with factories, warehouses, and an expansive railyard littered with unused railway carriages and locomotives. The railyard is what caught Velma's attention. _Mmm_ , she thought and postulated and weighed, before deciding that _it might just work_.

The traffic had changed to reflect the new surroundings. Case in point: the detectives and the puppy were about to be boxed in by a truck-and-18-wheeler collaboration in front of them. The passengers noticed how their driver was allowing them to be boxed in. Worse still, she was slowing down and allowing their chaser to gain. Predictably, Shaggy and Daphne made their concerns well known: " _Velma, he's right on our tail!_ "

Perfect! Just the cue she needed!

" _Everyone, DUCK!_ " she shouted as she once again opened the throttle to full bore and steered sharply to the right… _underneath the 18-wheeler!_ Her friends had barely the time to comply as the longboard whizzed along its perilous path. They all ducked, almost too late to avoid contact with the undercarriage, wheels, and axles. Once they cleared it to the other side, Velma continued veering off the asphalt and onto the dirt, heading towards the rail yard.

She kept the throttle open as she headed blindly towards the assortment of abandoned railway carts. At this point, she was inwardly praising the board's independent suspension that absorbed the bumps on the uneven terrain and allowed her to maintain her speed. She sped ahead. She jinked left and right at various intersections, neither knowing nor caring which was the correct choice. All that mattered was evading the specter that wished them harm.

Soon she found herself and the team clear of the rail yard and within a derelict section of the industrial area. It was a quiet area, defined by dilapidated shells of buildings and infrastructure. _Well, at least the pavement is still serviceable_ , she sighed to herself in relief.

Her relief was short-lived.

" _Velma, he's still behind us!_ " shouted Daphne.

Velma was at this point weary of the pursuer's doggedness. Which was why she peered over her shoulder to ascertain Daphne's assertion. To her frustration, Daphne was telling the truth: she who was Velma had been unable to shake off the phantom. She should have been paying attention to the approaching T-junction. When she turned back in time to notice it, it was almost too late to choose in which direction to turn. And when she made her choice the turn had to be a sharp one.

Too sharp, as it happened, for one of the wheel bearings to remain intact.

* * *

Try as they might – try as they _did_ – they were never going to shake him off. He was superior to them in every way: he could _fly_ , for god's sake! So when they went under the truck and off-road, all he had to do was adjust his altitude and follow their dust trail at a distant leisure. And when they hit asphalt again he only needed to up the pace once more.

He caught up with them almost too easily. Then he watched as the spectacle at the T-junction unfolded.

Something must have gone awry on Helga's board, probably the suspension that gave in. Whatever it was, it caused the board to pitch to its side as Velma attempted the corner. He watched as Velma dropped immediately onto the pavement, tucking and rolling some distance before coming to a halt. Rogers too as he hugged his dog tighter, then rolled immediately on impact to dissipate as much of the force away from him and the pet as possible. The Blake girl…she wasn't as lucky. She was flung off into the air, then she hit the hard ground on her right shoulder and arm. She came to an immediate halt on impact. Just as immediately, she began a tearful wail of intense pain and agony as she clutched her right arm and writhed violently on the ground. Her face was twisted into an expression of searing distress.

_Looks like she did more than chip a nail or smudge her dress_ , he quipped to himself, very much self-satisfied. _That arm has to be broken!_

He stopped and lowered himself to the ground. to admire the carnage in front of him. What a figure his downed victims cut! Velma had risen unsteadily to her feet, her clothes torn, her legs scuffed, and her glasses shattered. The Rogers kid had gotten himself to a seated position in which he was tightly cradling his puppy, hoping to offer it what little protection his scrawny frame could still muster. Blake was still writhing in anguish, her initial wailing reduced now to a hitched, high-pitched whimper.

He watched, as Velma moved over to Rogers and embraced him around his neck from behind, maybe as a final act of solidarity. He watched as the two looked towards him. Their expressions conveyed a sense of inevitability as they dared – indeed, _defied_ – him to do his worst.

And as he had no witticisms left for them, nor was he any longer in the mood to explain his motivations, he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy...quite a predicament in which our heroes find themselves, isn't it? But that will have to do for this chapter, folks! Thank you for reading thus far; your support means the world to me, so if you have any comments, complaints, or concerns, I'll be happy to hear you out.
> 
> As you've no doubt deduced, I wanted to highlight Velma's longboard in this chapter, as well as her prowess at handling it. In the cartoon, it was used merely as a conveyance to and from locations. I wanted to paint a fuller picture of its build and capabilities, and also of how adept Velma is at handling it.
> 
> I got the idea of Shaggy's turn of bravery from an episode of Shaggy and Scooby-Doo Get a Clue in which Shaggy is shown throwing a punch at an adversary. It doesn't amount to much, but it's the thought that counts, isn't it? Anyhoo, that's the scene that got me thinking that Norville Rogers is not the one-note cowardly character I always expected him to be. He is willing to stick his neck out if the stakes and the situation demand such actions.
> 
> My main inspiration for the chase scene? Speed, infused with some Gleaming the Cube. The scene with the 18-wheeler was totally...erm, inspired...by the latter movie. And also by Jackie Chan in Winners and Sinners, in which he performed a similar stunt on roller skates.
> 
> And last but by no means least, this chapter's Spotify list, which I've restricted to songs no later than 1994, given the vintage of APNSD and the setting of this story:  
> The Duke Arrives: The Barricade/The President At The Train – John Carpenter and Alan Howarth  
> Le Parc – Tangerine Dream  
> Be There – The Pointer Sisters
> 
> And that's it for now. See you next chapter and stay healthy!


	6. Unknown To Others, Unknown To Self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI: The gang confronts the monster, much to their regret. They're barely able to escape, but even that doesn't last long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the brainchildren of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.

This qualified as his greatest achievement ever: the defeat and disgrace of the Scooby-Doo Detective Agency. And here he stood, on the cusp of victory. Blake was down, the mutt was out. And Velma, she was pinning her hopes on that loser Rogers, embracing him from behind. A lost cause because the chickenshit was more concerned for his dog than even for his own survival. Instead, the last two detectives standing remained together as they stared him down defiantly.

_OK, you want my worst? You got it!_

So he pointed his finger gun their way and – "Bang!" – watched as they all started gagging and gasping. _That's it_ , he thought, _feel how your lungs can't absorb oxygen anymore! Feel the suffocation! Feel the asphyxiation taking hold!_

He was reveling in watching his foes blacking out in front of him. He was intoxicated by their desperate gasps for whatever air they could get. It was all futile as one by one they all went down.

_Ashes, ashes, they all fall down._

He'd done it! He'd incapacitated the whole lot of them! He was focussing on his impending victory. He should have been focussing on the motorcycle fast approaching him from behind.

* * *

All of a sudden, every dog in the neighborhood was going nuts. The barking sounded different as well. This wasn't normal barking; it sounded as though the pooches were in pain or something.

He could have left it alone. He _should_ have left it alone. It had nothing to do with him anyway. But…it couldn't have been a coincidence. No way. _No. Way!_ First Jones gets arrested as a criminal mastermind – that by itself was super weird – and now _this_.

But then the howling stopped and that was that. Or so he thought. Red Herring was in his yard, polishing his motorbike after getting reamed out by his parents before being confined to the house as punishment for being out at an ungodly hour ( _Guilty as charged._ ) and having the balls to prank call them while out at said ungodly hour (" _That wasn't me!"_ ). He was about to revel in the reclaimed silence which lasted as long as it took him to hear a familiar motor being started in the distance. It was Dinkley's board – he'd long become familiar with that engine note – but it sounded as if she was overrevving the motor, asking for much more than it could safely give. It sounded as if she was trying to escape from someone…or some _thing_.

_Dammit, I just know I'm gonna regret this!_

These were his thoughts as he hurriedly put on his helmet, And the _really_ sad part was…Red knew exactly why he was doing this. Guilt. Remorse. Over Jones and his dweeby friends of all people! Over getting played into putting Jones behind bars. Over getting played for a _fool!_ Ten-to-one odds, the dweeb squad had encountered their bogeyman and were now hauling ass to get away from him.

_This is such a bad idea_ , he self-chastised as he started the bike and tore out of the yard, deaf to his dad screaming just where the hell he thought he was going.

**xxXXXxx**

He followed the sound of the longboard's engine note until he reached the arterial road. There he saw the floating being, in hot pursuit of Dinkley and her friends. The pipsqueak was weaving through the traffic as if possessed. He watched as she steered the board underneath a friggin' _18-wheeler_ to escape the creep. For all the good it did them as the creep simply held back and continued chasing them at an easy pace.

_He's toying with them!_

Red found himself boxed in by the same 18-wheeler, so he took a few moments more to get off the road and off-road to follow the chaos. He had a relatively easy time of tailing them, as the spook was at a high enough altitude to remain in his sight. Even after he disappeared after clearing the rail yard, he had no problem deducing the direction in which they all were heading.

Then he heard how the engine noted suddenly stopped, followed by Blake's shriek that echoed and resonated throughout the industrial complex.

_Oh no, sounds like she's hurt bad! Does that mean he's got them?_

He chose to ease off the throttle and approach cautiously at a lazy idle. What came into sight eventually was enough to shock even the hardened Red Herring: the creep looked like he was trying to kill the dweebs! One by one, they all collapsed before him. It was almost enough for him to override his enmity towards Jones's gang – _Not even weenies like them deserve that!_ – as he once again opened the throttle and barrelled towards the monster.

_This is such a bad idea!_

The monster was so absorbed in his downed foes that he must not have heard, or even registered, the scrambler bearing down on him. When he finally turned around to see who it was, it was too late. He had no time for levitation as Red struck him and he slumped over the front wheel, windshield, and handlebars. Red kept the taps open as he veered away from the fallen dweebs and careened down the road, looking for the nearest solid structure. Said structure took the form of a brick wall for which Red made a desperate beeline before his passenger could regain his presence of mind.

" _Red, you_ —" the figure wanted to begin a list of abuse for the bully, but by the second word, Red had flung himself off the bike, letting it continue towards the brick wall. Red was still tucking and rolling as his bike and its passenger crashed through the structurally unsound wall. As he came to a halt, Red heard that the bike's journey was still ongoing.

Crashing sounds; sounds of things breaking; sounds of structural integrity being severely compromised. A pause, then an explosion. Finally…nothing.

Satisfied that he had at the very least bought everyone the required time, Red Herring removed his helmet and hurried back to the gang. When he made it back to them, they seemed unaware of his presence and more interested in slowly regaining consciousness through every gag, wheeze, and ragged breath. No time for talking to them! They needed the police and paramedics, but he didn't know where the nearest phone was, nor did he want to leave them alone to find one.

Then he saw in what bad shape Scooby-Doo ( _He's bleeding from his ears!_ ) and Blake ( _Damn, is that arm broken?_ ) were.

How to get help? How to get help? Then he remembered Blake's butler who could always appear out of nowhere…he reckoned it was worth a go.

_Now what's his name again? Jeeves? Jarvis? Jerkins?_

Then he remembered.

"Jenkins!"

No response.

" _Jenkins! It's an emergency!_ "

Nothing. His desperation was building.

" _JENKINS_!"

The butler was suddenly alongside him, having instantly arrived in a zip that would rival the slickest example of smear animation. And he was not impressed. " _Red Herring_!" he scolded. "If this is _another_ of your practical jokes, then so help me OH DEAR _LORD! MISS BLAKE!_ "

He changed his tone midsentence as he noticed his ward, her friends, and their condition.

" _That's why I called you!"_ yelled Red in equal measures panic and relief _. "Get the cops and an ambulance! I think her arm is broken!_ " explained Red, with uncharacteristic selflessness in his voice and expression. Selflessness that did not go unnoticed by the butler, who simply nodded before replying.

"Right away, Master Herring!"

* * *

Jenkins had done his thing by zipping away. In no time flat, he had zipped back, bringing with him an assortment of policemen and paramedics. Also, a veterinarian. He dashed off once more and returned with whoever of the children's parents he could find.

"Sorry for the delay," he explained contritely once done, "but the Saturday morning rush is quite intolerable."

The medical staff immediately started tending to the wounded. Velma and Shaggy were the least afflicted, requiring only oxygen as well as treatment for scrapes and bruises. Velma's parents were most relieved at that bit of news, as was Shaggy's mother. The Blakes could barely contain their shock at the sight of their dearest daughter. They watched Daphne being stabilized after the paramedics ruled that not only was her right arm broken but that she also had a dislocated right shoulder. She was summarily rushed to hospital accompanied by her mother and with Jenkins and her father in hot pursuit.

That left Scooby. The dog had had a bad day, and it wasn't yet midday. His physical injuries were worrying enough, but the damage to his psyche left his owner heartbroken. Scooby refused to let the vet touch him. Every approach was met with a growl and a baring of his fangs.

Only Shaggy had any chance of getting through to him.

"Like Scoob, it's OK!" he softly and lovingly reassured. "It's me! It's Shaggy!"

"R-Raggy?" the puppy weakly responded, trying to recognize the name.

"Yeah, Scoob, Raggy!" Shaggy kept reassuring his best friend. "Scooby-Doo, you gotta let the nice lady help you! You were hurt pretty bad. She's going to make you all better."

He spoke that last sentence more in hope and uncertainty. As he spoke it, he turned to the vet and his teary, soulful expression betrayed his uncertainty. He then turned his attention back to Scooby, who now trusted Shaggy Rogers enough to allow him to kneel beside him. Shaggy stroked the puppy, stopping to rest a hand against the side of Scooby's head. Scooby responded by repeatedly pressing his head against his owner's cupped hand before feebly licking it.

"That's it, Scoob," whispered Shaggy before motioning to the vet. "Now this nice lady is going to fix you up good as new. You're gonna be just fine!"

A pause, then: "Rokay, Raggy!"

From there, the vet had no problem loading the pup named Scooby-Doo into her wagon.

"Hang in there, Scoob," Shaggy reassured one last time. "I'll be with you as soon as I can."

"We'll _all_ be there," added Velma as she moved in and placed a gentle hand on Shaggy's shoulder.

"Rokay.."

The only reason Shaggy wasn't crying was the knowledge that there was still work to be done.

* * *

"Over there! He crashed through over there!"

Red Herring pointed to the hole in the brick wall as if the three uniformed officers accompanying him weren't able to draw that conclusion by themselves. Though all three seemed doubtful of his claims, they nonetheless had a duty to look into them.

"Stay back, Kid!" ordered the one uniform. "If this bozo's as dangerous as you say, you'll want as much distance between you two as follows."

With that said, she and her partners drew their weapons and entered the building. For the longest one-and-a-half minutes, Red Herring stood waiting nervously. Dreading the outcome.

Then…

" _CLEAR!"_

" _CLEAR!"_

" _CLEAR!"_

Was this good news or not?

They exited with their weapons holstered. The first one out reported: "Kid, we found your bike in there. Don't bother asking…it's toast! There's a ton of damage in there, but nobody dead or alive."

Not.

"Yeah, whoever crashed through with you is long gone!" another cop added.

Then the third: "Look, Kid. We're still going to need your formal statement." He then turned back towards the remaining two victims, who were also giving their statements to a newly arrived Detective McChokem-Childe. "But if your story checks out…well, that was ballsy what you did to save those kids over there."

"Yeah," added the second, "are they like your friends or something?"

Then the first: "They must mean a lot to you to want to risk your life like that!"

Red Herring had no answer for them.

* * *

"Floating," the bitter detective reflected. "Now he was floating and going all _Superman_ on you?"

"Whether you believe it or not, that's what happened," the girl in glasses replied with her composure holding steady under the detective's pointed questioning. It didn't take McChokem-Childe long to react when the scene was called in, not with the call mentioning a group of three children and a puppy being involved. The detective then knew…

The girl in glasses and the snot-nosed Captain's son had recounted the events since leaving the station. To which the detective had more questions.

"And just what were you kids doing at an active crime scene?" Asked with a hint of _gotcha_ in her voice for all gathered in the area to hear.

"The same thing you did when you visited it at about 2 this morning," Shaggy replied, just as pointedly.

McChokem-Childe did note that the little punk was looking past her as he answered but chose to pay it no heed. "That was _official_ police business!"

"And what exactly _was_ the official police business, Detective?" She turned around to see Captain Rogers stood behind her, having arrived at the scene unnoticed by her.

"Pop!" exclaimed Shaggy, overjoyed at his father's presence, even if Captain Rogers was there in his official capacity.

"Son!" replied the captain. "I got here as soon as I heard about it over the scanner! Are you OK?"

"I'm fine, Pop," Shaggy replied. "But Scooby's banged up pretty bad! The vet's going to have to operate on him." It was all Shaggy could do to remain composed as he divulged that bit of information."

Captain Rogers maintained his professionalism as he reassured Shaggy: "Well, Scooby's tougher than we all realize. I'm sure he'll pull through."

Seeing that his words seemed enough to placate his son, the Captain turned back to his detective. "So Detective, what were you hoping to find at the crime scene?"

The detective struggled for an answer allowing Velma an opportunity. "Captain Rogers, I believe she had reason to reconsider Freddy's guilt and tried unsuccessfully to obtain exculpatory evidence."

This piqued the Captain's interest. "Oh? What kind of evidence, Velma?"

"Well, Sir…" began Velma, before going into detail on the high-tech fabric the gang found at the payphone and which may also be present at Freddy's home. There was also an embellishment on how they brought the matter of the fabric to the detective's attention and how it seemed too cutting-edge and expensive for mass-market production.

"Interesting…" nodded Captain Rogers.

"Captain! All they had was a single thread! Hardly _anything_ to work with!" protested McChokem-Childe, hoping to avoid an accusation of dereliction.

"Then how about _this?_ " countered Shaggy as he produced from his pocket a largish strip of fabric. "It's from the robber when we met earlier today. Scooby ripped it off his coat sleeve when he attacked us. We're sure you'll be able to find the same fiber somewhere at Freddy's."

Captain Rogers was impressed: "Son, that's a great idea!"

He then allowed Shaggy to hand him the fabric before ordering: "Detective! Get this to the lab for analysis. Then go back to the crime scene to see if you can find any matching fibers. And Detective? Great initiative on your part! Going the extra mile to crack the case!"

McChokem-Childe was miffed. Firstly, that the Rogers kid had undermined her in front of Daddy Dearest. Secondly, that she was now in his debt for getting her out of some serious shit. Thirdly, because now she had to accept the wannabe detective's evidence in the presence of his old man.

"Thank you, Captain," she conceded before slinking off.

That left Shaggy with his father and Velma.

"Son, I'm needed back at the precinct. Your mother will drive you back home. But first" – Before Shaggy could react, he found himself in a tight embrace from his father – "I am so relieved you're still alive and well! If anything bad happened to you, so help me God..!"

"Like, thanks Pop!" Shaggy was at that point too emotionally overcome to say much more.

And then there were Shaggy and Velma.

"So is that it for us then?" asked Velma. She had a look of disappointment as she asked the question, of reluctantly having to accept that they may have been in over their heads. "Are we handing the matter over to the police?"

"No way!" countered a suddenly resolute Shaggy. "That guy framed Freddy, hurt Daphne, and almost killed Scooby! I'm done being a coward! I want to take him _down!_ "

Velma was taken aback by Shaggy's newfound resolve. Indeed, that feeling was mutual in her as well. Still…

"But how?" she asked. "You've turned in all our clues to the police.

"Not _all_ our clues," replied Shaggy, his resolve now tinged with mischief. "I thought I'd want to run _this_ by you first."

With that, he produced a different object from his other pocket for Velma's consideration.

"Oh Shaggy, you're brilliant!" exclaimed Velma as her eyes lit up upon viewing the object.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are, dearest readers! Another chapter completed! So what could Shaggy have that has Velma in such a tizzy, even though the gang is now down to two members? Ah, but that would be telling now, wouldn't it? As always, thank you, thank you, and thank you some more, for taking the time to read.
> 
> Anyway, on to my notes...
> 
> One of my goals here was to explore Shaggy's friendship with Scooby, specifically the trust between the two. I always saw Shaggy as being the only one to get through to Scooby in extreme situations where no amount of Scooby Snacks would help and so decided to run with that idea.
> 
> It also stood to reason that since this iteration of Shaggy is the son of a police officer, at least some of his father's knowledge must have rubbed off on him. He'd therefore be able to handle encounters with the police whenever the little detectives' activities come into question. But it was also important not for him always hiding behind his father's rank and position to his advantage.
> 
> I hope to have elevated Red Herring to more than just a one-note comic relief. I thought him just as capable of showing empathy towards others, or at least capable of thinking beyond just himself and his own interests.
> 
> And finally, this chapter's Spotify list:
> 
> John Crow – Jimmy Cliff  
> Don't Lose My Number – Phil Collins  
> Stuck In The Middle With You – Stealers Wheel
> 
> That'll do for the chapter. See you next time!


	7. Narrowing The Possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI: There but for the grace of Red Herring go the remainder of the Scooby-Doo Detective Agency, though not all of them have emerged unscathed. At least they may now have a way of turning the tide against their adversary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the brainchildren of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.

"Jinkies, Velma! You merely went ahead and did it!" she berated herself constantly.

Late Saturday afternoon at the Dinkleys, and Velma's self-remonstration was interfering with her urgent work.

" _ **Oh Shaggy, you're brilliant!"**_

If only…if only she had let the matter rest on _that_! What had overcome her? Shaggy had given her a miniature black box that was sewn into the fabric of the sleeve which Scooby had ripped off from their new acquaintance. He was giving her first crack at analyzing it; he knew she'd have superior facilities to those of even the CPD. And to be fair, she was thrilled at the prospect. Positively _euphoric_ at a chance to flex her analytical skills and her engineering nous. Excited that she might be able to make significant inroads into this…this… _fiend's_ identity.

But then…

" _Oh Shaggy, you're brilliant!" she exclaimed in unbridled joy. Such was her joy that she launched herself upward towards him for a tight embrace around his neck. He happened to be turning away from her for whatever reason, so she caught him from the side. Perfect, she thought as she now had a prime opportunity to kiss him on the cheek: a token of how much she appreciated the courage and support he'd shown over the past many hours. And then it went wrong and she—_

She shook her head vigorously to rid herself of the distracting memory before going back to her analysis.

**xxXXXxx**

Shaggy, meanwhile, was home. It had been a whirlwind since the crash, and he was exhausted. He had been to the hospital to check up on Daphne, where he was informed that she was in the operating theatre. Surgeons, he was told, were inserting titanium pins into her right ulna after the paramedics had popped her dislocated shoulder back into place. He was reassured that she was in good hands and was expected to make a full recovery.

From there it was on to Scooby at the vet. He was informed there that his best friend was also in surgery. Scooby's ears were severely damaged, and he needed a torn eardrum repaired. Shaggy was, however, assured that the success rate for such operations was extremely high.

" _And please, Young Man," quoth the sweet, elderly receptionist, "please get some rest! You look out on your feet!"_

He was. And so was his mother from offering her taxi services. _Plus_ , she hadn't even completed her Saturday morning shopping. She was out rectifying that matter. And here he was, at home on babysitting duty. Seated on the couch in the living room with Sugie fast asleep on his lap. He looked down at his baby sister and in a rare moment of melancholy, began envying her purity and innocence.

His little sister, asleep as she was, picked up on his pensiveness. "Gaga goo-goo…Scooby be OK…" she cooed drowsily.

Shaggy didn't answer back; he simply gazed lovingly at little Maggie Rogers, who despite her age and limited speech, somehow always knew the right thing to say to him.

As he cradled her and rocked her back to sleep, he mulled over her words: " _Scooby be OK._ "

Maybe she was right. Maybe things would be OK. After all, Scoob and Daphne were set to be just fine. And Freddy…based on today's events and the weak case against him, he was set to be released if he wasn't out already.

And Velma was working feverishly, trying to analyze that black-box doohickey. Which he'd given her. For which she was extremely grateful…

_He was turning away from Velma to join his mother and sister when he felt her arms latch onto his neck from the side. Instinctively, he turned back towards her to see what the big deal was. In time to be in just the right position for her lips to make contact with his. But the weird bit was still to follow. Immediately after the contact, Velma's eyes shot wide open and made direct contact with his. The look in her eyes mirrored his own shock. Both of them realized that they had to pull away. Both must have been hoping that the other would make the first move. That kiss lasted several awkward seconds longer than it ought to have._

Shaggy jolted back to the present as he dispelled the memory of Velma. On his lap, Sugie had fallen back to sleep and was breathing in soft, wispy sighs. He transferred her to his parent's room to continue her rest on their bed. He then moved to his room to continue thinking.

Briefly, he zoned out again, with his thoughts back on Velma.

Velma, the bookish genius with a wild side she'd only show to a select few. He smiled.

Velma, with her cute and adorable features. He blushed.

Velma, whose lips felt so out of this world and tasted so differently to and so much better than anything he could ever recall eating.

And just as he felt himself slip back into a dreamy, flowery haze, he startled himself back out of it.

"Wait a minute!" he exclaimed to himself. " _Velma!_ "

* * *

Captain Rogers was at his desk, about to pack up and call it a day when his phone rang. His direct line, not routed via the switchboard: known only by a few of the top brass, and his immediate family.

"Captain Rogers," he responded with professional curtness.

"Hello Pop! I thought I missed you! Oh thank goodness!" Shaggy sounded out of breath as his words tripped over each other.

"Whoa, slow down, Norville!" the captain moved to calm his son down. "What's on your mind, Son?"

Shaggy then took a few deep breaths to follow his father's suggestion before: "Pop, it's Velma! She's—"

"Oh yeah!" interrupted Captain Rogers. "My officers at the scene did mention how you two became rather sweet with each other over there! They reckon you're quite the Romeo!"

Shaggy was too flustered even to blush at that revelation: "But Pop—"

"It's perfectly normal," the elder Rogers continued. "You had a narrow escape from a very dangerous situation. Stuff like that tends to make you notice things you never knew were there before. Feelings you never knew you had."

Shaggy was forced once more to recall the event: the kiss.

**xxXXXxx**

_They pulled away, their lips parting with a distinct smack. All they could do was stare as if the other could perhaps explain what had just happened. Then…it dawned on them that they weren't alone. They turned towards a gathering of smiles and/or knowing looks. The officers on the scene, Velma's parents, Shaggy's mother…Red fricking Herring: they all saw. Even Sugie, who offered the comment: "Shaggy Velma mwoo-mwoo-mwoo!"_

_And all within the small radius erupted with laughter. Some in mirth, others in approval. Others still, like Velma's parents and Mrs. Rogers, in shock but not necessarily disapproval. Even Red Herring who pointed at them and blurted out: "You know? That's really funny!"_

" _Well," stammered Velma as she sought a hasty exit, "I'd better get to examining that device. I…I…oh, jinkies…I-I hope to see you soon, Shaggy.."_

" _Like…um…yeah…me too, Velma," replied Shaggy, equally as tongue-tied._

" _Purely to share my feelings MY FINDINGS!" – She instantly corrected her Freudian blunder – "My findings, right? Just to be absolutely clear!" she hastily added._

" _Of course! I understand perfectly!" he answered in equally hasty agreement. "I look forward to it." – Then he too quickly clarified – "I mean…to hear what you find out."_

_And so each went their way._

**xxXXXxx**

"Norville? _Norville!_ Are you still there?" his father summoned him back to the present,

Shaggy quickly gathered his faculties and responded: "Yeah, Pop, I'm still here."

"Good to hear. So…you mentioned Velma.."

"Pop, I think she's always been the target of the ghost!"

A pause, and then: "OK Norville, talk to me! How do you figure _that_ one out?"

And Shaggy explained. "This ghost, he seems to be targeting us, like he knows what moves we'll make before we make it. But if he knew us, then why would he target Freddie first? He'd know that Velma was the smartest in our group, so why not go after _her_ first? I think he's saving her for last!"

Another pause. "So you figure someone's done their homework on your gang?"

"Maybe…or it could be someone we caught before."

"So…someone looking for payback..?"

"It's possible, but Pop, I got nothing concrete for your detectives to work with. Just…a gut feeling. Plus, Detective McChokem-Childe is already looking into the fabric she got from me and Velma."

Shaggy couldn't see it, but his father was beaming with pride on the other side. "Son, there may just be a great detective hiding inside you yet! I guess you just needed the proper motivation!" He then continued, not giving his son a chance to protest. "Sounds like you have someone in mind already. If I can help you, it'll be in a heartbeat!"

"Pop, like, I got two possibilities." Shaggy then revealed the names of those possibilities.

A longer pause followed; his father was giving the names his due consideration. "Sounds doable at short notice. I'll pull their records and call in a favor at the Department of Corrections. It shouldn't take long. I'll let you know when I get home."

"Thanks Pop!" replied Shaggy, suddenly grateful for the trust his father was showing him despite the obvious danger in which he and the gang still were.

"Anytime, Son. Anytime! Just don't tell your mother we had this conversation! For _my_ sake!"

* * *

"Jinkies! This is _fascinating_!" Velma loudly declared to herself.

She'd been confined to the house by her parents, a function of their concern over her safety following her narrow escape that morning. Not that she minded it.

She was in her laboratory, which also doubled as her room. Within it was a mindboggling array of machines capable of measuring, analyzing, and calculating just about anything she might require. But for all her resources, all she needed now was her workbench, on which she had stripped down and disassembled the device Shaggy had given her. And while the person behind the device was reluctant to share his secrets, the arrangement of parts in front of her had plenty to say. And she was not about to interrupt them.

She'd been able to identify two distinct components within the device. The first was a miniature ultrasonic generator, transmitting via a small but powerful omnidirectional speaker. _So that's how he did it_ , she silently marveled to herself. _Ultrasonic waves at just the right frequency to shatter glass and to disorientate his victims!_ It all made sense! The ultrasonic disrupted the workings of their inner ears, particularly the part that regulates balance. The nausea was also a side-effect thereof. And since Scooby's canine hearing ability was superior to that of homo-sapiens, the effect on him was exponentially intensified. Hence his pain and anguish.

With that bit of information uncovered, she then focussed on the second component. This one was similar, only instead it generated _sub_ sonic waves. But for what? Maybe it had to do when they suddenly couldn't breathe.

"But _how_?" she asked herself aloud.

Luckily, her handy dandy oscilloscope was nearby for her to test the second generator's output. Soon enough, she had produced a list of consistent numbers. If only she knew what they meant. Luckily – by virtue of her being Velma Dinkley – she could produce an annotated list of items, substances, and organisms listed along with their associated natural frequencies. It was simply a matter of finding the number in her all-encompassing listing.

Half an hour later, she found her desired lookup: lung tissue.

"Aha!" she called out to herself in solitary triumph. This was a miniature sonic pressure generator, designed to channel low-range sonic waves that would attack a target's lung tissue. Their breathing would be disrupted, and they'd start suffocating, thus being incapacitated. Apply for too long though, and death by asphyxia was a definite possibility.

"Such genius!" she called out, again to nobody in particular. And if the inventor of this weapon wasn't actively trying to do harm to her and her friends, she might even have admired him.

Though the question remained: Who was he? And that one question begat many more.

_Is this personal?_ It seemed that way judging by how he treated Scooby at Freddy's.

_Was he trying to prove a point with us?_ His attacks on them seemed more premeditated than any of their previous foes, who only attacked once provoked.

_If so, is he making this a vendetta?_ His attacks on them seemed more personal in nature, hinting that he was aware of their methods and personalities

Finally, _what is his endgame?_

So many questions; not enough answers. At least not yet. Suddenly she felt tired – depleted, actually – as the weight of the day's exertion finally and suddenly drained the adrenaline that had kept her tiny frame going up until this point. She couldn't fight the fatigue anymore, and it bothered her. She realized that she hadn't even enquired about Daphne or Scooby, so consumed was she about this examination.

Oh well, she vowed to call Shaggy the following morning for the necessary updates and to report on what she had just uncovered. Maybe even…dare she mention it? She was conflicted between wanting clarity over the kiss they'd shared and wanting to pretend it never happened. _Oh Shaggy_ , she mooned over her first kiss and how abashed she was about having enjoyed it immensely. Gradually, her vision became a soft-focus haze as she slumped to sleep at her desk. But not before giving one last whisper, audible only to her subconscious: "Shaggy.."

* * *

_Damn that Red Herring! Going off-script like that! Since when had that idiot decided to grow a conscience? That was not part of the plan!_

Despite his outward projections, the culprit behind the mask was all too human. He'd been reminded of that fact when Red Herring sent him crashing through the brick wall. Luckily for him, the bricklaying was of poor quality. So poor, in fact, that the bricks yielded enough for the impact not to be fatal. The custom fabric – of his own invention – that comprised all his apparel, also did its part in absorbing the impact.

It still hurt like hell, though!

_Note to self: cut Red Herring loose. He knows nothing and his usefulness has come to an end._

He was back at his base of operations, an anonymous recess somewhere within the abandoned subway system. It was fortunate that the crash had not robbed him of his hovering ability. Because of that, he was silently able to drift out the back door of the building before any of the police could cordon off the scene. No blood because he wasn't cut or otherwise bleeding. No fingerprints either, so _let them investigate!_

Even the detective agency being in possession of the ripped strip of fabric wasn't an issue. Neither was the black box that the mutt ripped off with the strip. No doubt Velma was right this moment looking into those bits of evidence.

_For all the good it'll do them! I'll still get them! I'll get them all!_

But not today. It was getting late and he needed to rest. Besides, his mom was serving meatloaf for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, Beautiful Readers: the end of another chapter! I hope you're enjoying the story so far. If you missed Scooby, Daphne, and Freddy this time around, don't fret. They'll be back next chapter; I haven't forgotten about them. As for this chapter...after the seriousness of the previous two, it was past due for some comic relief. And Shaggy and Velma's awkwardness towards each other was prime material for the cause.
> 
> The series made it clear that Shaggy adores his little sister, so I chose to expand a little on that plot point. It would make sense that he'd have no qualms having to babysit her, with or without Scooby. As for his father, the series kinda suggests to me that Shaggy may be a bit closer to him than to his mother so that's what I chose to run with. Otherwise, Captain Rogers would merely be a convenient MacGuffin with no emotional attachment.
> 
> On that same note, I didn't think it unreasonable to assume that enough of Captain Rogers' police expertise would have rubbed off on Shaggy so that he'd be able to call his father and freely speak to him about matters pertaining to investigating mysteries.
> 
> Velma's lab, while not up to the scale of Dexter's, makes full use of the series' setting. If she can store just about anything in any given storage space, then her room can have space for any given apparatus which she would happen to need at a given time.
> 
> Finally, here's this chapter's Spotify list:
> 
> Why Do Fools Fall In Love – Frankie Lymon & The Teenagers  
> She Blinded Me With Science – Thomas Dolby  
> Big League – Tom Cochrane
> 
> And that'll do for now! See you next chapter!


	8. Things Become Less Hazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI: With the rest of the team indisposed, Shaggy and Velma employ their own initiatives to search for leads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the brainchild of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.
> 
> Disclaimer #2: Your mileage on this chapter will depend on how familiar you are with two specific episodes of APNSD: "The Computer Walks Among Us" and "Dawn of the Spooky Shuttle Scare".

" _Oh god no! This is not good!"_

Those words, spoken from within Daphne's private hospital ward, filled him with dread. He'd been clearing himself with her private security guard posted at the entrance of the ward. It was all a formality anyway: as her friend, he was automatically authorized for visitations.

Then he heard those words from inside and felt the knots forming in his abdomen.

"Daphne?" he asked in quiet disbelief.

" _Oh god! Look how pale she is!"_

" _Oh no! We're losing her!"_

Bits of dialogue that only exacerbated his already crippling dread. "Daphne!" he repeated louder this time.

" _Give it up, Doctor! She's beyond our help!"_

" _Nonsense! I can save her! Twenty seconds! That's all I need!"_

Now he was overcome by fear the intensity of which he'd never experienced before. " _Daphne! Hang in there!_ " he yelled. Suddenly he had to be by her side. To do what, he didn't know: he was no doctor. But he _needed_ to be by her side. Only, he was stopped by the guard, held back from entering.

"Sorry Son," he calmly explained. "Let them do their job."

But he refused to listen. He started wriggling and squirming to free himself from the guard's grip, asking repeatedly to be let go. He was fortunate that the guard knew who he was, else he'd be pinned to the floor for his insolence.

" _I did it! She's going to make it! She's going to be fine!"_

And with a herculean effort, he pulled free from the guard and tore into the ward, where he saw Daphne's bed enclosed all around by the drapes. No time for pleasantries or formalities as he ripped the drapes open. And saw…

" _Freddy_ , what are you doing here?" asked Daphne in confusion and agitation, but also with some measure of relief. She was surrounded by three cosmetologists, all of whom were aiming their dirtiest looks at the interloper. The guard was now standing behind Freddy, awaiting instructions from Miss Blake. Daphne simply nodded an _'it's OK'_ to him, which he acknowledged before returning to his post.

Freddy, meanwhile, set about addressing Daphne's question. "What do you mean what am I doing here? I hear these panicking voices and I think you're dying or something! Then I run over to find out that you're having your makeup put on."

Daphne maintained her look of disapproval as she answered. "Freddy, _look_ at me!" she began as she motioned to the cast on her right arm and the sling in which the arm was resting. "I've had titanium pins inserted in my arm, _before_ having the shoulder popped back into joint! That second one _really_ hurt, by the way! How else am I supposed to apply my makeup in this state?"

Freddy's relief overrode any anger he may have had over the anti-climax. He was rendered speechless.

"Besides, look at this drab, tacky gown I must wear!" – She then made as arch a show as she could of highlighting the garment – "These are my personal cosmetologists, the best of the best, and even they had a hard time highlighting my beauty to match this icky color scheme!"

And Freddy would be Freddy once more and speak out of turn: "But why all the fuss? You're _already_ pretty!"

The occupants of the room stared at him in stunned, pin-drop silence. And for the first time ever, Freddy was aware of what he had said in his outburst, and all he could do was attempt a muttered apology. "S-Sorry Daphne! What I meant was—"

At which point the three cosmetologists took their cue to leave the room. No way were they going to be caught in this crossfire. They excused themselves and departed, during which one of them snuck Freddy a sly thumbs-up and a wry smile.

Freddy's vocal abilities remained stuck in neutral as the ward emptied out, leaving only him and Daphne. Daphne on the other hand realized that now was a perfect time to pivot away from the awkward topic looming over them.

"So, Freddy," she began. "What are you doing here anyway? How'd you get yourself released?"

"Like, yeah Freddy. Are you really free now?"

A third voice entered, accompanying two familiar figures: Shaggy and Velma. They wasted no time with the hugs and handshakes and the back-patting. They moved on to regaling Daphne with commiserations for her condition, and commendations for her courage and hardiness. In doing so, they brought Freddy up to speed with the previous day's occurrences. Shaggy then informed the group of Scooby's progress, of how the cochlear surgery was a success and that he was good as new. The vet had also informed him that Scooby would be released as soon as the anesthesia wore off.

Then it was business as usual.

Freddy was the first to explain.

"Well, it's thanks to you guys, and yesterday's late edition of the National Exaggerator." On cue, he produced the relevant copy. His friend saw the cover, which was dominated by a high-resolution photo of the specter floating above the Saturday morning traffic. Splashed across the picture was the blurb: " _ **Fall From Grace As Thieving Ghost Thug Now Reduced To Petty Traffic Violations! Pictures And More Inside.**_ "

"Scoop Byline himself wrote the article. Guess you were lucky you passed a tour group from Ohio while you were fleeing for your lives. Uncle Eddy says they flooded him all morning to sell their pictures. My lawyer brought the copy and the pictures to the police's attention. Something about 'wrongful arrest' and 'potential lawsuit'. Next thing you know, I'm released and free to go."

Daphne was amazed at that revelation. "Wow, Freddy! It looks like something actually good came from the Exaggerator!"

Next, it was the turn of Shaggy and Velma.

"Well." began Velma, "Shaggy was able to secure a device from our ghost's costume after Scooby ripped it off with the coat sleeve."

"Like, yeah!" Shaggy cut in. "I thought to give Velma first crack at looking into it. She _is_ our resident genius, after all!"

Daphne saw how Velma seemed particularly flattered by Shaggy's remark, but she chose not to pursue the matter. There were, after all, more pressing concerns. Thus, Velma could continue: "And between me and Shaggy, we've figured out his whole bag of tricks!"

Daphne noted here as well the coy expression Shaggy gave to Velma, something more than distant admiration. Again, she let the observation slide as Velma launched into how she analyzed the black box and derived her conclusions. Everyone in the room was impressed by her thoroughness. But one point remained unanswered…

"But how was he able to float in the air and fly after you guys?" Freddy asked with uncharacteristic astuteness. He then immediately gave everyone the reassurance that everything was back to normal with his follow-up question: "Could it be that he's part Kryptonian?"

" _Freddy!_ " his friends chided in unison.

"I was just asking..."

"Like, if he was Kryptonian, why would he need to wear any armor at all?" questioned Shaggy. "Anyway, while Velma was looking at the black box, I had some questions of my own that I ran by my pop."

"Oh? What kind of questions, exactly?" queried Daphne.

"Well, you see…"

* * *

Captain Rogers had arrived home slightly later than usual the previous evening. The family had enjoyed supper together, except for Shaggy. He was more concerned about Scooby's condition and it showed in his diminished appetite.

"Like, Shaggy dear!" his mother noted. "Are you sure you're totally cool? You've only had, like, three buckets of fried chicken!"

"It's Scooby, isn't it, Son?" added his father. "Don't worry! I've got a uniform guarding the vet where he's being kept. Anything for a cop's family! Trust me, only an idiot would think of coming after him!"

Dinner came and went, thereafter Shaggy was called by his father for a talk while his mother handled the dishes. They went to Captain Rogers' study, and behind a closed door, the captain disclosed his findings.

"So I ran those names through our database, and I asked a buddy at Corrections for more info on them. Let me first say, Norville, that was some solid detective work! Figuring that Velma might be the target. You may be on to something."

A point that filled Shaggy with more fear for Velma than pride in himself.

"OK," his father continued, "let's start with Simon Simonson. He had it in for Velma during that space shuttle launch, right? Something about her experiment being sent to space and not his invention. I don't think he's your guy."

"How come, Pop?"

"You see, you and your friends busted him for sabotaging a space shuttle launch. That's NASA, so he was sabotaging a government-sanctioned operation. He was brought up on federal charges and is currently doing fifteen to twenty at Atwater."

Shaggy gulped at that revelation. Not once had he considered that what the group called a 'mystery', was always either a crime or a felony.

"Now your _second_ guy…he's why I think you're on to something," Captain Rogers continued. "He got eighteen months in juvie. Released six months ago. Read between the lines, and you've got motive and opportunity to plan revenge."

"But like, no means, Pop!"

At which point, the elder Rogers offered some encouragement with: "Hey, you didn't exactly give me much time to look into this properly! I still think it's enough to point you in the right direction. I mean…you could always run it by your good friend, Velma! Spend some quality time filling in the missing pieces…maybe even come to terms with your situation, hm?"

He let his voice trail off with the last sentence, and Shaggy was torn between being embarrassed by his father's knowledge about Velma, or grateful for the help he'd provided at such short notice. He settled on gratitude and thanked his pop profusely before heading eagerly for the door.

" _Ahem!_ Which you'll conduct tomorrow morning, Son! For now, you're exhausted, and your adrenaline is about to come crashing down. Get some sleep. You'll be no good to Velma if you're one step away from collapsing. Remember: she needs you and you need _this_."

He then produced a manilla folder from his desk and presented it to his son. Shaggy briefly scanned it to find a condensed summary of his second suspect. Before he could express any thanks, Captain Rogers issued one final stipulation. "Son, I'm doing all this as a favor to you, and because I genuinely believe you have what it takes to be a great detective. But as soon as you connect all the dots, please let me know so that the police can handle the rest! Can you promise me that?"

"Sure thing, Pop," replied Shaggy. "And thanks…for everything.'

* * *

Back in the present, Daphne was most impressed by what Shaggy had told the group, though she did have one reservation. "Shaggy, it's not that I'm not impressed by what you figured out. I also noticed how he went that bit harder on Scooby and seemed to be taunting Velma a bit more than the rest of us. But how can you be so sure that it's _him_?"

"That would be where we came together," announced Velma while eying Shaggy with the same admiration he had shown her.

"OOH! Let me guess!" interjected Freddie. "You came together, and sparks flew, right?"

"Well…erm…" stammered Velma, "I suppose…you could say that..."

The reality was that this was one of those rare moments when she, Shaggy, and now Daphne too, were grateful for their conspiracy theorist of a friend's perennial cluelessness.

* * *

Early that Sunday morning saw Shaggy tearing along the sidewalk. He'd risen with the sun and was now beating a path to Velma's home. A useful side-effect of his constant running away from danger was his Olympic-level fitness and stamina. He thus arrived at his destination hot and sweaty, though hardly out of breath.

He suspected that ringing the front doorbell would win him no fans among the parental Dinkleys, with whom he sensed he was already on thin ice after the previous day's events. Instead, he hopped the fencing to get to the backyard, to the window of Velma's room/lab/workshop/garage. Once there, he tapped on the window as loudly as he dared to get Velma's attention without waking up her parents. And very shortly thereafter, a newly woken and decidedly disheveled Velma appeared at the window. She silently opened the window on him and spoke in an urgent whisper: "Shaggy, what are you doing here so early?"

"Like Velma," Shaggy whispered back, waving at her the folder his father had given him, "sorry to wake you up but I just _had_ to see you. We've got some _really_ important issues to discuss!"

To which her agitation partially gave way to a rosy blush and a perplexed look.

To which Shaggy replied with some clarification: "I mean…about the monster! I got an idea of who he is and I wanted to run it by you!"

Velma quickly regained her composure while acquiring a look of disappointment. Disappointment notwithstanding, she answered: "Oh…yes…that's what I thought you meant…Listen, we can't talk here. Can we meet at the treehouse? I'll be half an hour, _tops_!"

At this point, Shaggy had noticed Velma's disheveled state, which he found no less adorable. So much so that he confirmed the arrangement with a dreamily spoken: "Yeah…I'll be waiting…"

Velma arrived at the treehouse within the promised time. She'd hastily spruced herself up, and she had brought along her briefcase full of black hole storage space. They wasted no time getting down to business, with Velma going first. As she explained her methods and findings, Shaggy realized that his father might indeed have steered him onto the right path.

"But Shaggy," concluded Velma, "doesn't this sound a bit familiar to you? I mean, I've seen such workmanship before. It's the same two-in-one concept as the fountain pen spatula combination. The work of someone we've met before? Someone known for his two-in-one inventions? Does this sound familiar, Shaggy?"

She was speaking as if he ought to have caught on to her hints.

"You mean, familiar like _him_?" Shaggy added as he held the open folder to her. Her eyes widened at the name and photo on display.

"Bruce Wormsley?" asked Shaggy.

"Jinkies! That's who _I_ had concluded was our ghost! Though I must admit: he looks a lot more hardened in that picture. Shaggy, how did you figure it out?"

"Things I noticed when he came after us and when he had us at his mercy. Like how he was bent on hurting Scooby yesterday. And also how he mocked you when you asked him what he wanted from us. I reckoned it could be someone who has it in for you, him, or both of you personally, so I asked my pop to look into the possibilities."

Velma was rendered silent. Shaggy explained his interactions with his father regarding the two possible suspects. As he did, she stared at him and listened in surprise and absolute admiration. She ruminated for a while after he had said his say, then: "Shaggy, that makes absolute sense! After all, it was Scooby and me who foiled Bruce when he sabotaged my computer at the science fair." Then, after another brief pause: "Let me check up on something."

"Like what?" asked Shaggy.

"A connection," the tiny one explained. "The two-way sound generator has all the hallmarks of a Bruce Wormsley invention, but I'm still wondering about how he invented his ability to fly. Then you mention how you also considered Simon Simonson. And now I wonder…"

She opened her briefcase to unleash the supercomputer. Into it, she added a few inputs, and the computer did its crunching before providing its feedback.

* * *

Daphne and Freddy read the printout of the feedback.

"Wow, you two!" blurted Daphne. "So Bruce Wormsley isn't working alone. He and Simon Simonson became pen pals while they were behind bars."

"Precisely!" affirmed Velma.

The printout partially comprised copies of the letters the two had sent back and forth, copies made by the prison officials. At face value, they contained harmless venting about a couple of 'mutual friends'. In one correspondence, Bruce let it slip when he was due for release. Simon replied by offering some ' _fashion tips to help you in the outside world'_ and to ' _help you spread your wings and fly'_. ' _Oh, and when you're out, be sure to check up on my mother, please. Here's her address._ '

Upon reading these copies, Freddy announced: "OK, I get it! So Simonson caught on to Wormsley wanting revenge on Velma and Scooby. Then he offered to help him out!"

"Correct, Freddy!" replied Velma.

"By giving him clues to help him out!" added Daphne. " _'Fashion tips'_ is code for the mystery fabric, probably something that Simonson invented. And the bit about flying? His anti-gravity boots!"

"All of which he stashed at his mother's house! Maybe prototypes and other development models!"

And this time Velma and Shaggy answered in unison: "Precisely!"

"Yeah, the way you worked together to find out who our ghost is, you two must have been meant for each other!" added Freddy.

" _Freddy!_ " Shaggy and Velma were sporting intense blushes at his outburst.

Daphne opted rather to defuse the situation. "OK, OK, everyone! Let's not get sidetracked here!"

"Damn right we remain focussed!" Red Herring spoke as he entered. "Because I'm itching to get payback on those rat bastards!"

* * *

There was one aspect of Velma and Shaggy's get-together that they felt didn't need to be disclosed just yet. Once they had drawn their conclusions at the treehouse, both felt awkward about how to end the meeting. The initial result had the hallmark of a staring contest, marked by mutual uncertainty instead of grim determination.

Then…a sudden moment of clarity – an epiphany – as they launched themselves towards each other. Shaggy placed his hands on Velma's shoulders. Velma grabbed Shaggy's shirt collar, the better to pull him in closer. Their lips locked for a more intense, more deliberate kiss than the previous day's one. Nothing about it was accidental this time; they were relishing every second their lips were in contact.

After way too little time, they broke contact and resumed their silent staring.

"Jinkies!" Velma eventually tittered. "I suppose we'd best check up on Daphne with our findings…"

"Yeah," agreed Shaggy. "We, like, still have a case to crack."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are, dearest readers! We've reached the end of another chapter. So it seems that some significant headway has been made; let's see how it translates into actions. They have the how, now for the why. Plus, more Scooby next chapter in case you think I've forgotten about him.
> 
> So now on to the notes:
> 
> One reason I can see Shaggy having feelings for Velma stems from the episode, "The Wrath of Waitro" in which Shaggy daydreams of Velma swooning over his him and his deeds as Commander Cool. I took this to mean that he likes her, at least on a subconscious level, and I decided to run with that observation.
> 
> My biggest challenge in this Scooby-Doo continuity was making Freddy a useful to the group while retaining his clueless, idiotic nature. My goal is someone in line with Gourry Gabriev from the Slayers anime franchise, then.
> 
> With all the running Shaggy does in the series, I'd imagine his cardiovascular fitness must be off the charts. Seriously, if he really applied himself, he'd have run a sub-2 hour marathon well before Eliad Kipchoge. Without any optimization strategies.
> 
> And so we move on to the Spotify list. (Out of curiosity, has anyone taken the time to listen to a given chapter's tracklist. If so, how well do you feel the songs tie in with the chapter?)
> 
> For The Cool In You – Babyface  
> Something About You – Level 42  
> True Faith – New Order
> 
> That's your lot for this chapter. See you next time.


	9. No Easy Targets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI: (Most of) the gang is back again, and they don't like being on the backfoot. Meanwhile, they might have a new, unexpected ally. And what's brewing between Shaggy and Velma?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the brainchildren of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.

Guilt…that he was not there when she was injured. Not that he was sure he'd be able to do much for her; just as long as he could have been with her to face down whoever was after his friends. Not that he had feelings for her…did he? Why did someone like her – smart, pretty, glamorous – want to hang around with someone like…well, _him_?

Seeing Daphne Blake in her current state had also made Freddy Jones realize that solving mysteries wasn't always going to be fun and games. He'd watched enough crime movies that showed that sending the bad guys to prison wasn't always the be-all-and-end-all. Sometimes…they'd come back.

He'd kept these thoughts in the back of his head in this, Daphne's private ward, before Red Herring had gate-crashed, much to his intense disapproval. But not to his friends and especially not to Daphne's.

In fact…

"Hello, Red! Glad you could join us!" spoke Daphne.

"Hey Red!" echoed Velma and Shaggy in one friendly voice.

"Daphne?" Freddy sounded off incredulously. "What's _he_ doing here?"

Daphne had anticipated Freddy's enmity towards Red and moved to quash any confrontation.

"Freddy! _No!_ " she cut him off with a chilling finality in her voice. "Red is here because _I_ invited him. You don't like it, you can leave!"

"But Daphne!" he continued, no less frustrated nor any quieter. "He's the guy who got me arrested!"

"Can it, Jones!" retorted Red as he matched Freddy's volume. "Consider it payback for all the crap you pinned on me!"

"You two, _stop_ it!"

Daphne's voice cut clean through their argument. The bickering duo turned toward her and what they saw scared them. Despite her infirmity, the redhead was glaring intensely at them as if suggesting that disobedience would severely not be tolerated.

"Like it or not, we're all here because two bad people decided to play Red against us. And I'm here with Shaggy and Velma because _Red_ saved us from Bruce Wormsley." – her voice the softened somewhat as she addressed Freddy specifically – "Don't you think that's good enough reason for him to be here? Don't you think he has every right to help us against Wormsley?"

Freddy recalled Daphne's initial warning: _"You don't like it, you can leave!"_

He forced himself to like it. "Ooh, OK!" he eventually conceded, though he still eyed Red Herring warily.

The strained, fragile truce between the two finally gave Daphne the floor. "Right," she began. "We've been on the back foot ever since this messy business began. But you know what? We've taken Wormsley's best punches and guess what, we're still standing! Well…most of us, anyway."

She motioned to her broken arm as she conceded that last point.

"But the point is…we now know who we're dealing with, thanks to the amazing detective work by Shaggy and Velma!"

She then motioned to those two, who simply nodded shyly as if they weren't particularly enjoying the attention.

"And I believe we're in a position to take the fight back to him," Daphne concluded.

"Like, Daphne, what more can we do?" asked Shaggy. "As soon as we're done here, me and Velma are going to turn our findings over to my pop and let the police take it from there!"

"Agreed," concurred Velma. "Even with what we know, our chances of surviving another encounter are—" – She paused to enter some inputs on a calculator – "5.26589 percent."

"No, that's not what I meant!" Daphne moved to clarify. "I'm saying we should strengthen our case against him."

"You saying we should find his tools and maybe tie them to him and the jewelry heist?" queried Red.

"But Daphne!" Freddy spoke in what would be a rare moment of lucidity. "Even though we know where he lives, what are the chances he'll have his tools with him at his house?"

A collective stare from the rest ensued, with Red finally breaking the silence: "You know, Jones? That might be the first thing you've ever said that made any sense!"

"And to answer your question, Freddy," Velma chimed in, punching on the calculator. "Given how smart and motivated Bruce is…0.0000000001 percent."

"Well _duh_! Of _course_ he'd keep his tools offsite! Delinquency 101, remember?" boasted Red.

"Like somewhere underground, maybe?" queried Velma.

"Like the abandoned subway tunnels?" added Shaggy. "The ones you say you know so well?"

It took Red Herring all of a few seconds to figure out where the conversation was heading and when he did, all he could do was sigh heavily in the knowledge that he'd walked right into their proposal.

And all he could say was: "You guys…that's not very funny…"

* * *

Scooby was already in a chipper mood when Shaggy and Velma found him in the recovery room at the vet. Their presence bolstered his spirits even more.

"Raggy!" the puppy yelped excitedly as he launched towards his owner and best friend.

"Scoob!" Shaggy shouted back, equally as elated to see his pal fully recovered. He caught Scooby mid-air and tearfully they embraced, knowing that about twelve hours prior, this moment was hanging in the balance.

"Scooby, it's so wonderful to see that you are fine," Velma made her sense of relief known as she joined in the embrace. "And what a relief you're being discharged, as well!"

"Aw, rucks!" said Scooby. "Rit's rice roo ree you roo! Rho, rwhat's rappening rith the roast?"

That last question was pause for thought for Shaggy and Velma as it flew in the face of Velma's predictions. She'd postulated that their encounter with Bruce Wormsley would still be a very delicate subject for Scooby, and so would be best avoided.

But no. Scooby had launched straight into that topic, eager to be brought to speed with his friends. He explained how having faced and survived his worst fears had made him realize that running away from danger wasn't always the right option; sometimes it would make better sense to hold one's ground and fight back.

And besides, he felt he was due some ' _ray rack_ " on ' _rat rastard_ ' who ' _romped the rit out of re!_ '

In response, his friends explained the headway the gang had made in their investigations, as well as the current plan of action. One aspect of the plan came as a shock to the puppy.

"Rate! Red's relping out?"

"Oh yes," answered Shaggy. "We got him to search the subway for Bruce's props."

"Rat's rangerous, even for Red!" fretted the little Great Dane.

Velma added her assurances: "Don't worry, Scooby. I wouldn't dream of sending him there unprepared!" She then pivoted to another, more immediate topic: "But Scooby, I'm sure you're eager to leave this facility and go home."

And Shaggy added: "Like yeah! The Blakes settled your bill and we've signed your release. We're good to go!"

"Scooby-Dooby-Doo!" the canine yelped in elation. "Ret's row ris roint! Rhyme ramished!"

But suddenly…he paused, sniffing the air suspiciously. Shaggy feared the worst from his abrupt action. Then the pup started sniffing the humans: top to toe, the both of them. Their fear eased into confusion: he hadn't detected any potential danger, but what was vexing him?

"Rokay you ryes, rut's rowing on?"

"Whatever do you mean, Scoob?" asked Velma, her confusion unabated.

Scooby looked sternly at Shaggy and Velma for a few seconds before explaining. He'd picked up Shaggy's scent on Velma and vice versa, with a particular concentration at their faces.

"Rid you rinally rake the runge and riss each other?"

Scooby watched as his friends stood petrified by his question, their faces blooming red. They stood silent, a question unspoken: "How did you know?"

The puppy simply pointed to his nose, stating "The rose rows!" before giving off his trademark giggle.

"Like, not in public, Scoob!" Shaggy desperately shushed his dog.

"Indeed," added Velma, just as desperately trying to stave off the red encroaching on her cheeks. "Can we discuss this at your home? After I present my findings to Captain Rogers!"

"Rokay, Relma!" Scooby let out another giggle before trotting off ahead of his friends.

Out on the sidewalk, Shaggy and Velma followed a jolly Scooby, walking side by side with Velma on Shaggy's right. As they walked, a thought entered the head of Norville Rogers: _Like, if Scooby could figure it out, if he knows, then why not 'rake the runge' even further?_

With that, he let his right arm trail to the side as he inched closer to Velma. Silently, surreptitiously, he positioned the arm so that his fingers were brushing against her left wrist. No response. He slid his fingers down to the top of her hand. Still nothing.

_OK Shaggy, last step. Nothing ventured, nothing gained…_

He pivoted his hand over hers. And as he did, he felt her hand open up, the better for him to slot his palm over hers. From there, he felt her acceptance as she tightened her grip around his hand, inviting him to follow suit. Which he did.

Which he did! He did it! He and Velma were walking hand in hand; he couldn't believe it.

Neither of the two looked at the other. They just walked on while savoring the moment.

Both had variations of the same thought: _At least something good was coming from this case._

* * *

Much later that afternoon, a guard at Atwater approached one of the cells with an announcement.

" _Simonson! You got yourself a visitor!_ "

The guard's voice from the bars of Simon Simonson's cell echoed throughout the cell block. This was strange to him: he had no visits scheduled that Sunday afternoon.

Regardless, he allowed himself to be taken through the rigmarole of being cuffed and led to the visiting area where he was made to sit at a table while the guard removed the cuffs only to cuff the one arm to the table. He should have been annoyed by the whole process but in truth, he was at the very least intrigued by who would want to visit him. On a Sunday, no less. Or any day for that matter. In fact, since his incarceration, nobody had come to visit him. Not his family, citing to him how disgusted they were that he'd stoop to terrorizing a group of kids to ease his bruised ego. Nor the science community who had no place for a convicted felon.

The only outside contact he'd ever had, began when he received a letter from a juvie fanboy who seemed to hero-worship him. Bruce Wormsley, that was his name. The two came to know each other better over some prolonged back-and-forth correspondence, during which some commonalities emerged. Chief of them was how they'd been done in by that damn puppy and especially that overachieving little bitch, Velma Dinkley. Gradually it became clear. The Wormsley kid would be out soon and was still itching for payback. Somehow he'd learned about Simonson's failed stint as The Astronaut Ghost, but regardless sought insight from the elder con.

Hey, what the hell. This could be interesting. Thus, Simon Simonson began aiding the soon-to-be-released kid. The kid was an ace inventor, not unlike him. And he who was Simon Simonson, still had working prototypes of his anti-gravity boots stashed at his mother's, together with the formula for a new superfabric he was developing before…well, those meddling wannabe detectives. And thus the kid had the framework for his revenge plot.

He watched as the guard left through the door. Seconds later, another man walked in, someone whom he recognized instantly.

He smiled as he greeted first: "Captain Rogers, I presume! How nice that we can meet like this!"

The captain didn't speak, not until he was seated at the table, opposite Simon Simonson, and laid a manilla folder between them.

**XxXXXxx**

The visit was a culmination of two previous events that day. The first one began that morning when Shaggy had brought Velma home with him to share the results of their investigations. As ever, he was impressed by the thoroughness and insight with which he was presented. They'd made connections and drawn conclusions that he couldn't in the limited time he'd had to look into Simonson and Wormsley. Velma's exemplary presentation did not hurt their cause either. They had handed him a printed report with every detail properly cross-referenced, annotated, even footnoted for good measure. He didn't even mind that they'd proven his theory about Bruce Wormsley working alone to be incorrect.

To say the least, he was impressed. But then, this _was_ output from Velma Dinkley, highly praised by the local DAs for helping them close all the cases against the gang's prior foes. He'd have spent more time thanking Shaggy and Velma, but the pair – or was it 'couple' now? – were in too much of a hurry to be elsewhere, with Scooby in tow. He did not begrudge them their wish and sent them along their way.

They were hardly gone when he received a phone call that could confirm one very important aspect of Velma's report.

**xxXXXxx**

"So you see, Mister Simonson," Captain Rogers continued, "I then received a call from one of my detectives. One of my very best, in fact. Anyway, she looked into a strip of fabric that was recovered off whoever was posing as the demon who was out to get the kids of the Scooby-Doo Detective Agency."

"Oh, do tell, Captain," Simonson responded aloofly. " _Do_ tell indeed!"

Captain Rogers complied. "Turns out it's nothing short of a miracle. A custom fabric that breathes, protects and insulates. Real cutting edge stuff. My detective told me how the lab techs couldn't believe the outputs they were getting."

"Sounds like the work of a genius," Simonson smugly conceded, with no hint of admitting any culpability.

"Indeed it is," Confirmed the captain. "Too bad it's been used in the commission of an A-class felony."

Simonson's calm façade showed no sign of cracking as he coolly countered: "A most compelling story, Captain, it really is. But why tell me _any_ of this?"

"Call it due diligence. I'm following up on a potential lead. Letters shared between you and Bruce Wormsley. In which you discuss methods of retaliation against Velma Dinkley. One of the main reasons you're having this discussion as a guest of the state. That's a conspiracy to commit a crime, you know?"

"Oh, this is rich! My first ever visitor inside, and he treats me to a comedy show!" Simonson was enjoying this session.

The police gave no sign of being chagrined. He reached into the folder and retrieved a ream or two of stapled pages. "Xeroxes of your correspondences with one Bruce Wormsley," he explained, before reading selected excerpts from them. He focused on the bits where the two writers were airing their abhorrence towards Scooby-Doo and especially Velma Dinkley. He then switched his focus to the parts about fashion tips, learning to fly, and the mother's address.

"I don't know, Mister Simonson," concluded Captain Rogers. "A bit of connecting the dots, filling in the blanks…looks like we've got an aiding and abetting charge pending.

"Based on what, exactly? Me wishing him well for his ambitions? How did that become a crime?"

"So you deny being involved in a string of crimes that involved the use of devices which you invented, the location of which was known only to you."

Simon Simonson then did his worst to stifle a chuckle. "Now we've got a magic show as well! _Oh_ goody goody! You somehow think you can turn a series of innocent letters into a charge of collusion! I'm all eyes and ears: impress me!"

The elder man seemed completely unperturbed by the convict's candor. In fact, he looked as if the convict had played right into his hands. "Very well," he began. "But I'm going to have to call my assistant first."

He then turned to the room's entrance and hollered: "Guard! Send him in!"

Simon Simonson turned to view the guest performer. "You!" he exclaimed in sudden recognition.

"Yes, Simon. Me!" replied Freddy Jones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, another chapter concludes! Thank you so much for sticking with the journey so far. Your readership means the world to me, it really does! But I'm sure you have some lingering questions. Like, how did Freddy get to the prison? And why is Velma optimistic about Red's chances? And where the hell is Bruce? Good questions, all of them. That will all be addressed in the next chapter.
> 
> As for my notes...
> 
> Well, if a dog's sense of smell is vastly superior to that of a human and it can at least sniff out the presence of a lifeform on another's person, then surely it would be able to narrow the search and detect evidence of kissing on the human visage.
> 
> I saw a video on Youtube on how Scooby may not be a dog (as if the talking capability wasn't enough of a giveaway...) but an extraterrestrial being. So if you're wondering how he could have recovered so quickly, there's my explanation and I''ll be sticking with it!
> 
> One of my favorite procedurals of all time is Elementary, and that's because the writers don't treat the police detectives as idiots in the wake of Sherlock Holmes. They are extremely capable; Holmes is just more so. That's from where I drew my inspiration for the interrogation scene. I wanted to show that the Coolsville PD is capable of conducting investigations with or without the Scooby-Doo Detective Agency. Which doesn't mean that Captain Rogers doesn't appreciate the extra helping hands.
> 
> On to the Spotify list we go:
> 
> To Look At You – INXS  
> The Payback – James Brown  
> I Won't Back Down – Tom Petty
> 
> And that's your lot, people. See you in the next chapter.


	10. Advantage/Disadvantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI: Plans are afoot to push back on the machinations on Wormsley and Simonson. Plus Scooby's back, while Shaggy and Velma have another tender moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the brainchildren of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.

Red's mind was cast back to the hospital visit where he was volunteered for this stupid recce mission. He had accepted his fate, maybe due to the guilt he felt over Blake. After all, her condition could be traced back to the call he made to the police after Wormsley's tip-off. He couldn't believe it: for the first time in his life, Red Herring was making amends for his actions. The feeling was…weird. Yet also…fulfilling.

Anyway, back in the here and now.

Just because he was familiar with the abandoned subway system didn't mean he liked being there. And this was Red Herring's predicament: he'd stupidly boasted about how well he knew the place – which was truthful – and now he was regretting having made that statement.

It was the early afternoon that Sunday and he found himself underground, flashlight in hand, scouring on foot for where he would most likely set up a hideout if he was the specter. At least he knew where to confine his search. He knew, for instance, that three stations lay between the jewelry store and the service ladder near Jones's house. He'd given the first one the full once-over, unsuccessfully. He'd searched every nook, every recess. Every locker over there. Nada.

He was now at the second station, two hours and a bit after leaving the hospital. Immediately he sensed that he was on to something. The place had been prepped. Someone had restored power to some – though not all – of the key light fixtures in the location. A promising sign it was, though the ensuing search started just as fruitlessly as at the first station. He found an eventual break in the darkened staff locker room, where his torchlight caught something off.

Three neighboring lockers…no different in wear and tear from the rest. Unlike the rest, these three were locked. He'd have thought it the result of their owners not bothering to clear their lockers once the station was shut down. He _would_ have, but for the fact that the locks were pristine, brand spanking new. Heavy-duty too: someone had gone to great lengths to safeguard whatever was being safeguarded.

At that point, he remembered Princess Blake's specific instruction: _"Please Red, find what you can. Whatever you find, return immediately and report it! Don't take any risks, please!"_

 _Yes Ma'am!_ He sighed wearily as he answered her plea internally to himself.

He also recalled the four-eyed pipsqueak's words: _"Do only what is absolutely necessary to confirm the location of his props."_

Straightforward enough, he reckoned: find that asshole's stash, then get the hell out of there and inform the police. Only…he had to make sure! No point in informing the cops and then leading them to a stash of nothing.

 _Delinquency 101_ might have read like a perverse version of the Boy Scout Handbook, but the two guides seemed to share one important central tenet: 'Be prepared'. For Red Herring, being prepared meant always being in possession of a crowbar because… _you never know_. He produced his crowbar and used it to prise open the lockers.

_Paydirt!_

He'd found the gadgets and doodads and gizmos that the Dinkley girl explained to him and the weenies back at the hospital. As he kept appraising his find by torchlight, the locker room came to luminescent life. Night became day as he futilely realized that he was about to be made.

"Red Herring!"

Correction: he had just been made.

At the entrance stood Bruce Wormsley, only he wasn't. At least not the nerdy dork who last tried to discredit Dinkley's computer project. This was the fresh-from-juvie version, with muscle tone that suggested a steep learning curve inside. His hair…well, there wasn't any of it left as he was now sporting a crew cut. The only reminder of the old Bruce were the nerdy glasses that he couldn't dispose of or replace. Glasses aside, this was a decidedly new Bruce Wormsley, and good luck taking him on!

"You know, Red," he spoke to the intruder as if not bothered by his presence, "Even though you crashed me through a brick wall, I was still going to cut you loose. I mean, you were supposed to be the useful idiot. Get Freddy Jones arrested, no more and no less."

"Hey!" Red interrupted. "Who're you calling an idiot?"

Which, in retrospect, was not the greatest comeback even given the circumstances. Not that it mattered as Wormsley talked right through it.

"But now you seem to have allied yourself with Velma and her friends," he continued with a disturbing calm in his voice, "you've forced me to rethink my decision.

"Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?" challenged Red.

Less than a second later, he had his answer.

* * *

"So how come you're still here, Freddy?"

Daphne's was a valid question. Everyone else had already left the ward. Shaggy and Velma had left to collect Scooby before presenting their findings to Captain Rogers. Red Herring had opted for a solo mission to find Bruce Wormsley's stash, refusing to take Freddy along with him.

His exact words: _"No way, Jones! You'll just drive me nuts!"_

Despite Daphne explaining the group policy of never splitting up into single parties, Red was adamant: _"You bunch of weenies would only slow me down!"_

And that was the end of the matter according to Red, so the gang had no choice but to see him off. That left Freddy, who for the past two hours since then had kept Daphne company with his presence and idle chatter. This…despite…

"I mean," she elaborated, "wouldn't you want to spend the day with your family?"

"But I already spent time with them yesterday. The whole afternoon after they released me. Then I get a visit from Uncle Eddy that evening and he's brought along an advance copy of today's Exaggerator and he shows me the story about you being chased by a ghost and how you ended up breaking your arm and I couldn't believe it so—"

"Easy Freddy, _easy_!" Daphne's voice of reason stopped him from hyperventilating. A realization of disbelief then quickly took over her as she shot back at him: "Wait a minute! Backtrack a bit! _What_ did you just say?"

She resumed before he could answer: "The National Exaggerator is like your bible. You believe everything you read in it! And now you tell me you didn't believe them when they said I was injured! What gives?"

Anyone who knew Freddy, knew that he had faced many more embarrassing situations than most people and as such was inured to all but the ultimate extreme feelings of awkwardness. Yet here he stood, blushing a vivid crimson hue, mute in the wake of Daphne's question.

"Well…I," he eventually stuttered, "I always thought you…you were…well… too tough and…and too smart to let something like…well… _that_ …happen to you."

And as used to praise and adulation as Daphne was, she was floored by Freddy's statement. But this time Freddy blocked her attempt at an answer.

"Daphne," he continued in as solemn a voice as she had ever heard, "You asked why I'm still here, right? Well, it's the least I can do for someone who put herself in this much danger," – he motioned towards her broken arm – "just to help me out of a pickle. _Me_ , of all people…"

Daphne, fighting the urge to remain blushing, forced herself to reply: "Freddy, you were innocent. I knew it, I just… _did_!"

Hearing that emboldened Freddy, a great deal. He moved next to Daphne's bed under her quizzical gaze. "Well, then can I return the faith you had in me?"

"Freddy, what are you—" began Daphne, but Freddy was past the point of no return. He placed a hand on her brow, against which she offered no resistance. He then brushed back her hair to expose as much of the forehead as possible. With that accomplished, he closed in for a soft kiss on her brow, saying softly: "Thank you."

Daphne could not bring herself to react in any other way than by smiling warmly at Freddy. She was not even surprised when she heard herself whispering back: "Anytime…"

"Ahem…I'm not interrupting anything important, am I?"

The voice of Captain Rogers shook the two out of their tender moment and back to sterile reality.

"Captain Rogers! I...uh…wasn't expecting you here!" Freddy and Daphne both scrambled for a coherent greeting and ended up talking over and through one another. Shaggy's father showed no sign of knowing what had just transpired. He simply said: "Glad you're recovering, Daphne."

"Oh, just fine, Captain," replied the redhead. "Doctors say I'll make a full recovery."

"And tell your parents I say thanks that they footed Scooby's vet bill."

"Not a problem, Sir. It's the least we could do after all the help he's been."

"And you, Freddy," the elder man turned to the blonde boy. "I actually came here for you. I may require your particular talent to crack the case."

"Me, Sir?" reacted Freddy, back to his default state of confusion.

" _Only_ if you're willing to accept, of course!" the captain cautioned. "I've read what Norville and Velma presented me, and I believe there's merit in your case. Based solely on what you've given me, I reckon a sit-down with Simon Simonson is in order. And the sooner we can make it happen, the better. In fact, I'm leaving for Atwater as soon as I leave this hospital."

"Captain Rogers, that's great news and all, but how am I supposed to help?"

At that, the captain smiled enigmatically. "The same way you helped from your cell: by making him talk if he doesn't feel like talking."

"Really, Sir?"

"Indeed, but I need a decision now. I've contacted your parents and they said it's your decision. I also assured them that you'll be under constant police supervision and protection."

Freddy took one look at Daphne, as a reminder of what the schemes of Wormsley and Simonson had done to her. He then turned to the captain and spoke with steely resolve: "I'm in!"

He bade Daphne farewell, but not before he heard from her: "Freddy, one moment please?"

Captain Rogers said yes, but please make it quick. Thus, Freddy was back with Daphne, who took his right hand in her left while softly, reticently saying: "Do you really think I'm pretty?"

Freddy paused. Here was a girl who reveled in being told how fabulous she was, but this time she was asking him rather uncertainly as if his opinion was the most important right at that moment.

"The prettiest girl I've ever known," he replied nonetheless without hesitation.

"Then I hope we can continue this conversation sometime later," she said while firmly squeezing his hand. Then she let go and watched him leave with the captain. _Yeah, it's not like I'm in love with that goofball_ , she thought as she lay back, closed her eyes and tried to catch up on her rest. _Not yet anyway…_ she smiled as she drifted to sleep.

* * *

The first punch was a telling one, but by then it was already the second surprise. The first one was just how damn fast the former nerd had become. In less than one second, Bruce Wormsley had covered the distance between him and Red before landing a crushing right hook on the redhead's temple.

The impact staggered Red, allowing Wormsley to follow up with a left hook to the kidney. The second punch did Red no further favors, eliciting a wince of distress. Time enough for Wormsley to cap his performance with a stiff-arm right that landed sweetly on Red's sternum. Suddenly, Bruce Wormsley's would-be accomplice found himself doubled over on the ground, desperately struggling to breathe again.

Above him stood his tormentor.

"Guess what I learned at juvie, Red," taunted the little maggot, before delivering a soccer kick – really putting the boot in – to Red's left flank. The impact sent Red rolling along the ground. "And guess what else…I learn very quickly!"

"Fat lot of good it did you!" sputtered Red after coming to a rest. "My _great_ grandmother hits harder than that…and she's dead!"

Wormsley briefly ruminated over those words, then closed in on his prone victim and followed up with another similar kick. Red was sent rolling again, which gave the attacker a chance to quip: "The things we learn for our own survival, right? Needs must, or am I wrong?"

But Red couldn't answer as he was still heaving and sputtering. Wormsley took the opportunity to raid the open locker for his equipment. Doing so, he kept taunting Red. "Red, I must say I'm disappointed in you. Here I thought you'd have every reason _not_ to align yourself with Jones's crew. I saw for myself how he kept wanting to pin every little slight on you. Every wrongdoing. Every misfortune. And in the end, what do you do? You stick your neck out for him and his friends."

While gloating to his downed foe, Wormsley casually suited up with the contents of the lockers. Before long, he stood as his specter persona. Red by then had regained his breathing and with it his ability to talk.

"This ain't about any of them! It's about me not liking when I get fucked over!"

"Oh well, then you're _really_ not going to like this!" replied Wormsley as he raised a hand towards Red. "The damn mutt ripped off one of my sound generators, so I had to waste the rest of yesterday making a new one. Mom didn't suspect anything. As far as she knows, I'm prepping for a science festival. Bless her heart, all she expects is that I'm home in time for dinner. Anyway, what say we test out the replacement? Full power…you look like you can handle it."

He then let Red have it.

However…

**xxXXXxx**

_Damn, that Dinkley is smart!_

" _Red!" she called to him as he was about to leave the ward. "Before you go…here's something that might help if you run into Bruce."_

_With that, she produced a set of earplugs for him which she said she'd built much earlier that morning. What followed from her mouth almost melted his brain. Something about 'negative sine waves', '90 degrees out of phase', and 'enough to cancel the effects of his ultrasound' while it would 'still let you hear your surroundings unobstructed.' He accepted her gesture firstly to shut her up and secondly because her inventions usually worked._

_He just hoped that he wouldn't need to test them…_

**xxXXXxx**

Bruce Wormsley had indeed given Red Herring a fully powered blast, so his shock was plain to see. Rats from far and wide could be heard having a bad time and their squeaks of distress echoed throughout the underground. Even the roaches were distressed if their frantic scurrying was any reliable indicator. Yet Red Herring was unaffected, even finding the strength to rise to his feet.

"Guess what, Buddy Boy! Dinkley's on to your gizmos!"

Red Herring then motioned to his ears, which was clue enough for Wormsley. _Damn, she's good!_ She'd been able to invent noise-canceling earplugs against his ultrasonic generator! He then made the mistake of pondering whether Velma really _was_ a better inventor than he was.

Red took advantage of his aggressor's distraction and rushed him with a hard shoulder check. The impact saw the two crash against the locker, with Wormsley pinned between Red's bulk and the locker's metal. Red didn't let up – he couldn't afford it – and continued with repeated right hooks to the creep's left flank and temple. Unfortunately for Red, he was so focused on Wormsley's left-hand side that he allowed his foe the space to counter. Wormsley had managed to grab onto him, the better to brace himself for his roundhouse right knee strike to land with maximum power. Wormsley found Red's other kidney, and the result was no different as Red staggered back, trying to favor the sore spot. Trying, only for Wormsley to get him into a Muay Thai clinch from which he threw knee strike after knee strike – left and right, left and right – to Red's midsection. But Red's body conditioning was up to the task and he held on until a gap presented itself. He timed it so that he was able to trap a knee and use it to scoop up Wormsley and body slam the little weasel spine first onto the floor. But Wormsley was prepared and upon impact simply rolled away, back to his feet. Which as it turned out, _Red_ had anticipated as he rushed in with a swinging left hook that connected cleanly with Wormsley's chin. No time to let up, as he followed up with a right uppercut that Buster Douglas would have envied. _More_ , as he stayed on the opponent, clapping his large hands hard against the ears, hoping to rupture at least one eardrum. And to cap it off, he reached for Wormsley's shoulders, the better to steady him for what was to follow. A headbutt that landed squarely on the criminal's brow, staggering him and cracking the mask.

"It's different when they fight back, hey Wormsley?" taunted Red, thinking he had the time.

He didn't. Wormsley used Red's distraction to counter with a low kick, his right shin connecting with Red's inner right thigh. The effect was vocal and immediate as Red felt the feeling in his right leg vanish, the limb no longer able to support his weight. Down he dropped to his knee, in time to hear a taunt from Wormsley: "That's what they said in juvie! Like I said, I learned quickly!"

Wormsley ended the fight with a vicious downward forearm strike that caught Red across the temple. And that was it: Red was unconscious.

Wormsley wasn't in much better shape, but at least he was still standing. But the brute had set back his plans for the day. Worse still, it seemed Velma was more on to him than he'd anticipated. _Screw it!_ It was going down today! He at least took the time to tie up Red – not that the big lug was going anywhere, anyway – before leaving.

_Ready or not, Velma, here I come!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter ends, Ladies and Gentlemen! I hope you're enjoying it so far. You've likely caught on to the fact that I'm not telling the story in a completely linear fashion. There have been instances of flashbacks (or "Fractured Narrative" if we're being technical...) so as not to slow down the pace or to intensify certain scenes. Anyway, the timeline ought to be in alignment again from the next chapter.
> 
> As for my notes:
> 
> Fight scenes for me go beyond just 'A hits B, B hits A'. I want to get into the mind of the combatant. Take Red, for instance. I imagine him as a brawler who can take a fair amount of punishment. He wouldn't have much stamina, so he'd want to end fights quickly with big hits. Bruce would be faster and more scientific. He'd target pressure points and nerve clusters for maximum damage with the least amount of effort. These were some of my assumptions in staging the fight.
> 
> I never saw this version of Daphne falling for Freddy instantly, at least not under "normal" circumstances. I saw her more as being conflicted over her feelings for him, definitely tolerant over his inane personality. All the while, she'd be unsure of whether or not she'd want to make more of those feelings. Something extreme would therefore need to happen for her to reevaluate her feelings for him. Maybe even start warming up to him...
> 
> And lastly, this chapter's Spotify list:
> 
> I'll Be The One – Boz Scaggs  
> Choose – Color Me Badd  
> Angels – Dink
> 
> And that's your lot this time around. See you next chapter!


	11. I Must Delete!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI: Red searches for Bruce's stash, only to confront the target and come off second best. Captain Rogers, meanwhile, makes contact with Simonson, and he's brought along a secret weapon. And what's up with Freddy and Daphne?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the brainchildren of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.

Simon Simonson hated his life.

The Jones boy's prattling was heading for ten minutes and was showing no sign of slowing down. His story started with how upset he was that Simonson and his partner had conspired to put an innocent person behind bars. But then he divagated, stating that his incarceration wasn't the worst thing he'd ever experienced or heard about. Did Simonson want to know what the worst thing was?

Oh god in heaven!

For the past nine minutes and twenty seconds, Simon Simonson had been privy to some of the most out-there, leftfield conspiracy theories that even an _X-Files_ showrunner would reject. The boy had invoked a plot between the Wendigo, the Tokoloshe, and the Chupacabra (and only because that last one begged to be in on the action). Apparently, those three tried taking over the world in a plan that involved Stonehenge, the Easter Island moai, and the Gulf Stream.

Simon Simonson hated his life. He made that much known by banging on the table to which he was cuffed and screaming in submission. "No more! _No more!_ " he yelled in escalating desperation. "You win, Captain! I'll talk! _I'll talk!_ For the love of god, please make this kid _shut up!_ I'll tell you everything I know, _I promise!_ "

Just outside the room stood Captain Rogers with the guard. He'd heard the one-sided conversation and was surprised that Simonson had held out for as long as he did. The guard, not normally given to sympathy for the inmates, could only look at the captain and ask: "Wasn't that a bit much, Sir? Cruel and unusual, maybe?"

To which Captain Rogers replied: "Not when your guy was targeting my son."

And the guard dryly commented, his sympathy suddenly no more: "Poor, dumb schmuck. Going after a cop's kid."

"Well, guess that's my cue, then," the captain spoke as he entered the room. He saw the look of woe in Simonson's expression and knew right away Freddy's droning had had the desired effect. His entrance had caught Simonson's attention, as well as Freddy's. To the youngster he said: "OK Freddy, you've done your part. Now I'd like to be alone with Simon again. Will you please step out? The guard will keep you safe outside."

Freddy complied and once he had left, Captain Rogers took another look at Simon Simonson. He was satisfied indeed that Freddy had done an exemplary job; Simonson was ready to talk. Still, the captain couldn't resist one more barb before restarting the conversation: "Hell of an opening act, isn't he?"

* * *

Damn!

He may have won the fight against Red Herring, but in no way had Bruce Wormsley emerged unscathed. About the only thing keeping him going was his adrenaline that had spiked during the fight. It was the reason that he'd remained standing after the massive uppercut, the double ear clap, and especially the granite headbutt. His ears were ringing, his head felt woozy. The mask was cracked, but still intact. If anything, it made him seem more fearsome, almost unstoppable. He'd need that aura to project that evening: there was an objective to fulfill. Tonight…he'd deal with Velma Dinkley once and for all. He'd show her who the smartest of the two was. He'd show her how much of a nothing she was without her friends.

He couldn't keep many tabs on Velma during the rest of yesterday. He was indisposed during the afternoon, and local news wasn't in abundant supply. The newspapers and tabloids had nothing to say about what happened after yesterday's crash. Only the National Exaggerator mentioned him briefly, and then only to mock how he'd started aiming low after the Marathon Jewellery robbery.

No mention of what happened to the wannabe detectives, however. But from what he'd gathered before Red crashed him through a brick wall, Blake was down for the count. The mutt, too. And if _he_ was out, then Rogers would be out as well. He and the dog were joined at the hip, more like brothers than master and pet. Eliminate the one and the other was sure to follow. Jones didn't add anything to the team but needed to be taken out of the equation just to rattle the rest.

That left Dinkley by her lonesome. She may have roped in Red to help her and look how that ended. So…no team for support, no back-up. A prime target for some alone time with him.

As he trudged through the abandoned subway towards the exit point, one thought – one steadfast goal – kept looping through his brain: _Ready or not, Velma, here I come!_

* * *

Finally! Captain Rogers was making decent headway with Simon Simonson.

"Let's just run through this one more time. Wormsley approached _you_ , not the other way round. Is that correct?"

"That's right," huffed an exasperated Simonson, his pre-Freddy bravado a thing of the past. "How many times do you want to know? Look, yeah, sure I was pissed off by the kid detectives. But _I_ wasn't the one plotting revenge! That was all Wormsley!"

"Because his beef with Dinkley was that much stronger than yours?"

"I guess so," Simonson conceded.

"Which is not to say that you didn't harbor any thoughts of revenge yourself?"

"Hey, you've read the letters, haven't you? _You_ tell _me_!" mocked Simonson, only to see that the captain was devoid of any humor. "Yes," he rephrased, a bit more contritely. "That's the sole reason we bonded through the mail."

"And also the reason you helped him to go after her? I mean, she _is_ the reason that you're sitting here…"

"Listen here, Captain Rogers! Who said anything about me helping him?", Simonson shot back. "You've read the letters! Nowhere do I mention offering assistance. And good luck taking your inferences to the DA! All I did was present a hypothetical scenario to him, and very vaguely at that! I had no control over how, or even _if_ , he would act on my conjecture!"

"So you're pinning it all on Wormsley, am I right?" the police officer asked in a neutral tone honed over many years.

"Damn right I am! I didn't start any of this, _he_ did!"

"And you say you are not aware of any of the past days' events?" Captain Rogers kept probing.

"Hey, cross my heart, Officer! Scout's honor!" Simonson swore. He'd maintained that position since the captain first mentioned how his son's group was injured or otherwise indisposed. "But from what I understand, he's thinned out the herd around Dinkley and cleared a path to her. Plus, he's not an idiot. Ten-to-one he knows you're on to him after what happened yesterday. So he'll want to get to her as early as possible. Plus, he's smart enough to realize you'd figure out _I'm_ in the picture somehow, then drive an hour and a half to talk to me. Which would buy him whatever time he needed."

It clicked straight away for Captain Rogers, who hurriedly shouted, "Guard!" while he just as hastily reassembled his folder and its contents. No sooner had the guard arrived when the captain continued: "I'm done here! Is there a phone nearby I can use!"

The urgency in his voice attracted Freddy, who peered into the room and asked: "Sir, something wrong?"

"I think we all just played into Wormsley's hands!" Captain Rogers answered both sombrely and urgently.

* * *

Shaggy and Velma weren't in any particular hurry to part ways, so they detoured with Scooby back to the treehouse. On their way, Scooby had noticed how Shaggy and Velma were becoming more accustomed to the hand-in-hand thing. Truth be told, they seemed to be finding it most agreeable.

Even inside the treehouse, Scooby noticed his friends' change in behavior. They were supposed to be focussing on the impending danger, and in fairness, they were. Velma had her portable police scanner buzzing and crackling, waiting for any news on Wormsley to spout from it. But at the same time, the two seemed a lot more taken in by each other's presence as if the crash had ignited a spark between them.

To the point where Scooby was feeling like a fifth wheel. On a unicycle.

Scooby's frustration, his doubt, and insecurity…he felt them build up within him. He didn't want to lash out at them; he had to show them that he really was OK. And so he let the build-up continue unabated. It was now early evening, approaching dusk. And Scooby's inner turmoil had become more than he could handle. He needed to speak out. Not a full-on confrontation: he'd try distracting them by interrupting their reverie and getting them to focus again on their case.

"Rokay Ryes!" he blurted out. "Rut's the ran for Ruce?"

The attempt was successful as Shaggy and Velma turned to him at full attention. A brief silence followed as they seemed unsure of how to answer his question. Shaggy was first to respond – cautiously – with: "Like Scoob, it's still baby steps."

"Yes indeed, Scooby," added Velma. "I fear this matter has exceeded our capabilities and that we're better off letting the police handle the case."

And normally that would have been great news for a pup named Scooby-Doo, a being who would emigrate to avoid ghostly confrontations. Instead, a look of disappointment, then: "Ruh? Row come?"

"Well, you see," answered Shaggy, still unsure about how best to approach the delicate topic at hand, "you got really banged up yesterday…and, well…"

"Rho?" interrupted the puppy. "Rhyme rack and rood as rue! Ruce ran ring it ron! Remme at 'im! Ri'll sprat him!"

He watched as the collective look of concern intensified. "It's that just that while you may have recovered physically," Velma took over the baton from Shaggy, "you may still be suffering psychologically."

"You rink I'm ramaged roods, ron't you?" a suddenly defensive Scooby rebutted, to shocked reactions from his friends. "Rell, Rhyme rot!"

"Of _course_ you're not, Scoob!" Shaggy instantly replied. "Nobody's saying that!"

"Rut I ret you rown!" Scooby persisted more emotionally. "Rye ret you rall rown! Rum relp Rye was! Row you rink I'm rho rood! Rou've even recome rissy-rissy rith Relma! Rou rike her rore ran rou rike me row! Rhyme rho rood to you ranymore!"

And the pup named Scooby-Doo would weep and whimper; the cumulative shock and trauma of his near-death experience had finally caught up with him. His bravado from the vet was gone. In its place, fear and anxiety that he'd been repressing in favor of putting up a brave front.

Shaggy rushed to hug him and comfort him, not denying him this release of pent-up emotions. "Scoob, that's crazy talk! I may be getting closer to Velma, that's true. But you're, like, my brother and I love you and always will! I don't even wanna think about what I'd do if Bruce…if Bruce…"

Shaggy let that sentence go unfinished; he did not even want to consider that possibility.

"Rut Rhyme rared, Raggy!", wailed Scooby. "Ruce is rout rare rand I'm rared!"

"I know, Buddy. Me too! I'm just as scared," Shaggy reassured his friend, his four-legged brother. "But we'll pull through this. We'll pull through like we always do."

"Indeed we _all_ will," added Velma as she joined Shaggy in embracing Scooby-Doo, offering all her reassurances, all her love for her canine friend.

Scooby felt his anxiety subside somewhat as a result of the gestures. At the same time, he felt lousy for the resentment he'd been harboring towards Velma and how she was stealing his best friend. He sensed the genuineness in her embrace and with it the sense that no matter what, she'd always have his back. The realization made him weep even more, causing his friends to hug him even more tightly.

"There there, Scooby," murmured Velma as maternally as she could. "It must have been terrible what you went through. If you want to talk about it, Shaggy and I will always be willing to listen." As she spoke those words, she snuck a smile to Shaggy that conveyed her earnestness. Shaggy returned it with a smile of his own reflecting his admiration for the little genius.

Unfortunately, this was as far as the three-way tête-à-tête would advance. The police scanner crackled to life with an ' _APB for suspect in Marathon Jewellery heist_ ' and how ' _suspect may be present in—_ "…

"Jinkies!" exclaimed Velma. "That's _our_ neighborhood!"

They continued listening, and the news from the broadcast got no better. ' _Suspect is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous_ ' did nothing to alleviate their fearful anticipation. Neither did ' _do not engage_ ' nor ' _wait for back-up'_. The broadcast also mentioned posting vehicles at the addresses of 'Norville Rogers and Velma Dinkley".

After what seemed an eternal spell of silence, Shaggy finally spoke. "Like, now might be a great time to skedaddle back home."

Velma could only nod at his assessment and comment: "A most prudent course of action indeed."

Even Scooby offered little resistance to the idea and joined them in their retreat. They'd made it to the elevator when…

"Going somewhere? But I just got here!", the voice came from outside the treehouse's window.

They looked out to find hovering outside the last person they'd hoped to see: Bruce Wormsley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it for now. Preparations are complete for the endgame. I hope you're all enjoying the ride so far. As ever, I'm appreciative for all the views, and would welcome your comments.
> 
> As for my notes:
> 
> Describing what Bruce and Red were feeling after their fight was easy. All I did was draw from my own martial arts experience. I've graded up to Third Dan in Kickboxing and have competed in K1 Full Contact. Naturally, all of that means I've been on the wrong end of all the blows I've described and so can tap into my firsthand knowledge.
> 
> Staying with Red...one of the assumptions I made about his character was that he wasn't a bully who'd fold against an opponent of equal or greater ability. I figure he'd still have a twisted (?) sense of pride and would persist until he'd get the upper hand. I never hated him in the series; in fact, I think his character was rather underwritten.
> 
> Turning towards Shaggy, Velma, and Scooby...I want to explore their uncomfortable situation but not at the expense of pace. Scooby's condition would lend itself as a highly effective catalyst for developing tension, whereas Bruce on the loose would force them to cut short any confrontation.
> 
> Writing Scooby's dialogue could be a headache at times. The MS Word Editor must think I'm in grade school, while Grammarly is wondering if English really is my first language. Usually, I'd get around it by writing his lines in indirect speech. When using direct speech was unavoidable, I found it wasn't a simple matter of just adding an "r" in front of each word. There was also the matter of concord, of how one word would flow into the next and whether there'd be a pause between words. My representation of Scooby's dialogue takes these factors into account.
> 
> And lastly, this chapter's Spotify list:
> 
> Great Train Robbery – Black Uhuru  
> Time After Time – Cyndi Lauper  
> Pale Shelter – Tears For Fears
> 
> And that concludes this chapter, Folks. See you next time!


	12. Often Our Truest Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI: Simon Simonson spills the beans. Bruce's intentions are clear, as is Red's resolve. Scooby, Shaggy, and Velma have a heart-to-heart that the puppy had been delaying. But then...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the brainchild of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.

Traffic on the interstate headed to Coolsville was disrupted by a fast-moving Chevrolet Impala. Road users would later comment at their respective destinations of the maniac who blew through traffic, crossed over solid lines (often without signaling), and generally treated the speed limits as bad suggestions.

Truth be told, the vehicle's occupants cared not one jot about their fellow road users' opinions. They were on a mission, their progress aided somewhat by the vehicle's blaring sirens on top and its V8 engine in front.

Inside, Captain Rogers was co-ordinating his CPD force to be on the lookout for anyone fitting the description of Bruce Wormsley, or otherwise dressed in the garb of the chief suspect of the Marathon Jewellery heist. He'd already phoned McChokem-Childe, his lead detective on the Wormsley case, from the prison to inform her of the situation. Now in the vehicle, Captain Rogers was informing the rest of the rank and file over the radio

"Suspect is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous," he concluded.

That done, he turned to Freddy who sat beside him, nonplussed by the erratic, borderline reckless driving and more worried about the safety of his friends. "You should see Velma on the longboard," was all he'd offered when asked how he could remain calm in the face of police pursuit driving. Otherwise, the ride had been devoid of small talk as his friends' situation took precedence

The radio then came back to crackling life.

"Sir!" it was McChokem-Childe. "I stopped by the Dinkley residence. She's not there and the parents don't know where she is!"

And Freddy, who also heard the detective's concern, offered urgently: "Try the treehouse!"

The captain paused for a contemplative while, then handed Freddy the radio receiver. "Freddy, explain the location of the treehouse and give her directions!"

So Freddy did.

* * *

Too easy.

Too easy and too predictable.

Bruce Wormsley's reasoning had been rock-solid. Not 100% accurate, but close enough. He was correct that Blake was sitting this mystery out. Jones too. But Rogers and the mutt weren't cowering at home, afraid of their own shadows. Instead, here they were, accompanying Velma at the gang's treehouse. Why, he couldn't fathom.

Wormsley was hovering in front of an open doorway, which afforded him an unobstructed view of the panic accumulating inside. Of all the places Velma and those idiots could have chosen to flee to! A small, exposed, elevated location was far from ideal against a being who could fly.

For the time being the trio were stood huddled in front of him, teeth chattering due to his surprise appearance. Whatever. He needed the two interlopers out of the way. Then he'd have his one-on-one with Velma.

Velma: his main goal.

"You," he pointed to Rogers. "And you," then to that damn puppy, who was supposed to be on the injury list. "My business is with Velma, not you two. If you leave us be, you'll be spared."

Bruce Wormsley figured his logic was sound. The two of them had already gone head-to-head with him and lost. Surely the outcome was still fresh in their memories. Those two cowards wouldn't hesitate to beat a path away from him. They'd be so focused on self-preservation that they wouldn't think to call the authorities before he was done and long gone. Besides, he was sure that his cracked mask was adding a new layer to his already fearsome features. Certainly, it was enough to make those two run for the hills.

"Like, no way, Wormsley!"

Say what? Did that chickenshit Rogers just turn down an offer to get out of danger?

"Reah! We're ricking rith our Relma!"

And now the mutt too? What was going on? Did the crash take a harder toll on them? Did they now think they'd grown backbones?

"I feel the need to explain something to you," he offered. "You recruited Red Herring to help you against me, right? I just ran into him underground."

He saw a collective gulp of uncertainty from the group. They knew that no good news was forthcoming from what he was about to say next.

"He sends his regards from the subway. I left him tied up there," taunted Wormsley. "Thing is…he's braver than you lot combined, and a better fighter. And look where that got him!"

He watched as panic started creeping back into Rogers and the dog, whom he addressed: "So if Red was unable to best me, what chance do _you_ two think you'll stand?"

He wasn't expecting a verbal answer; he was hoping they'd draw their own conclusions and flee.

Instead…

" _RASTARD!_ " growled Scooby from nowhere as he raced towards Bruce before launching himself at the hovering boy.

**xxXXXxx**

"Scooby!" shrieked Velma.

"Scoob!" yelled Shaggy.

"What the hell?" squawked a surprised Wormsley.

Scooby said nothing. He just growled wildly – gutturally – at the intruder as he closed in. He was a feral being, all semblance of his recent heart-to-heart with his friends purged from memory. The red mist had descended. Red mist brought on by Wormsley's implicit reminder of yesterday's outcome and that there might be a repeat today.

Stimulus: fear.

Response: attack!

Before anyone could respond any further, Scooby had made it through the doorway, onto the landing. He had leaped on to and over the railing. He had covered the gap between him and Wormsley. He was now clawing on to his tormentor's waist with all four limbs and had sunk his fangs into the phantom's right bicep.

"AAARRGGHH!" howled Wormsley in response with a voice aimed at the heavens. He was now squirming and twisting, trying to shake Scooby off of him. He was succeeding, which prompted Shaggy's response.

" _SCOOB!_ " the boy shouted as he plotted a similar trajectory to that of his puppy. Racing for the landing. Onto the railing. Launching toward Wormsley and Scooby. Finding the target and holding on. Oblivious to the drop to the ground. Deaf to Velma frantically calling out his name. Focused only on helping Scooby.

While Wormsley was focused on Scooby, Shaggy could maneuver so that he had the foe's back. Shaggy applied his admittedly lacking combat knowledge – gleaned from extensive viewings of Coolsville Wrestling Federation matches – in the form of a chokehold on Wormsley. He'd seen it used to instant effect in many matches, but Wormsley wasn't going under. It wasn't working! Wormsley wasn't weakening! Instead, Shaggy felt how the floating menace started pitching violently mid-air in all directions. Pitching and shaking, shouting for him and Scooby to get the hell off.

And it was working. Shaggy felt his grip weakening. Same for Scoob. A frontal attack had now become a struggle to hold on for dear life. Not to be, as one decisive barrel roll dislodged him and Scooby. As the ground below rushed up to claim the two, Shaggy didn't hear Wormsley's loud relief, nor Velma's distraught shouting of his name.

* * *

_Coming to get you, Wormsley!_

Red had made it out of the subway, into the fresh air and fading light.

_Get ready for Round Two!_

Only he didn't know where to begin looking. What would Delinquency 101 say? ' _Start with the obvious_ ', he remembered. He remembered Wormsley's beef with Velma. He remembered how Dinkley destroyed him in that science fair and how he didn't take it well. And from his actions, he was going through the weenie squad just to get to Dinkley.

_Oh shit!_

And he who was Red Herring had taunted the ex-con with how Dinkley had made his greatest weapon useless. No matter how smart Wormsley was, Red had suggested, no matter how smarter he'd become, Dinkley would always be smarter than him.

_And now he's really pissed! He sounded like he had nothing left to lose!_

OK, time to bet the farm. Bet on Dinkley. Only, she was smart enough to anticipate his action, so she'd not want him to attack her at home. Nor any of her friends and their families. That left the treehouse.

As he resumed his heavy trudge – his leg was still tender from that low kick – he made a few wishes. He wished that his guess was correct. And against his reputation and past experiences, he wished that the weenies were still safe.

So preoccupied was he that he didn't notice the blue Chevrolet Caprice sound its siren before pulling up alongside him.

* * *

"Alone at last," noted Bruce Wormsley. His voice hinted at relief and impending intimacy, in direct contrast to the horror that Velma was projecting. He was on his feet, inside the treehouse, blocking her escape channels.

"I suppose some explaining is in order. You know, the hows and whys and _AH-AH-AH_!" He changed tone quickly as he noticed her inch towards a croquet mallet in the one corner. "Don't think I don't know about your black belt in croquet, Velma," he issued while raising a pointed hand her way. "Plus I know from Red that you're prepared for ultrasound, but you still need to breathe, don't you?"

He watched as Velma's expression conceded compliance, if not defeat.

"Good, now slide the mallet to me."

She did, and he summarily tossed it out the doorway and over the landing.

"OK, now where was I?" he resumed, noting how Velma was glaring at him with searing defiance. This conversation was going to be one-sided, but no matter. "So you know, I was upset about you beating me at that competition. And well, you know what happened after that."

"Indeed I do, Bruce," replied Velma, icily. "Will this be some sob story, a desperate, deluded justification?"

"Oh, far from it!" replied Bruce as he advanced one step towards Velma. "If anything, you empowered me. Yes, there was that UCLA scholarship I forfeited for now having a criminal record."

"And how is that my fault?" Velma rebutted. " _You_ initiated the chain of events!"

"No! Don't misunderstand! I don't blame you!" he replied, advancing another step, making her more nervous. "It's just…juvie opened up my eyes. I saw the world for what it really is: an ugly place with no use for a cloistered existence." – He advanced yet again – "A world that you can't change but must adapt to. Adapt or die!"

Velma was now showing fear. "Bruce, stay away from me!" she yelled futilely.

Bruce wasn't stopping. "Don't you see? I'm what I am because of _you_. _You_ made me better, more focussed. And those months inside that I spent learning you, learning _about_ you, your talents, your accomplishments…you as a person."

She was now cornered, and he was precariously close to her, effectively trapping her.

"It all made me realize" – Bruce's voice had become impassioned, emotional – "why I was your number one fan! Why I'll _always_ be your number one fan! How you inspired me to reach your lofty levels!"

"Bruce, _what_ are you talking about?" yelled Velma, her confusion and anger at odds with her fear.

"I'm saying I love you, Velma Dinkley!"

With that, he removed his mask to reveal his hardened face to her, She gasped at how life inside had changed the nerdy boy she once knew, both physically and morally. He dropped his mask as he was now close enough to grab her shoulder and advance those final inches…and kiss her on her lips. To Bruce Wormsley, the experience was the embodiment of heaven. To Velma, it was a nightmare as she shook and wriggled and squirmed and twisted and gasped in protest, anything to free herself from his pressed lips. But ultimately the decision to end the kiss was Bruce's. The instant he did, Velma felt a wave of rage - a bloodthirsty _fury_ \- overcome her. _How dare he!_

She was going to make him pay for that!

He was still in a blissful state when her first strike landed. A palm strike to his throat. He gasped and gagged in response, staggering backward.

_Don't give him room_ , Velma's inner voice urged her.

She heeded, rushing him, grabbing an arm before twisting to execute a shoulder throw. Bruce hit the ground flat on his back. Velma held on to his arm and he was motionless. Long enough for her to apply an armbar. Or at least attempt one. He read her intention and rolled towards her, preventing her from completing the lock and forcing her to release her grip. Instantly both were back on their feet, but Velma's reaction time was that bit quicker.

_Don't give him space to use the force generator_ , she willed herself.

She was back on him. She released a rapid succession of right-hand punches on him: a hammer fist to his outer left thigh; a backfist to the inner left thigh; another hammer fist to the left floating rib. All in a fluid, flowing motion. All of which left her adversary unbalanced and stunned.

_Don't let him breathe!_ She urged herself further.

She rushed him again, this time jumping to grab him by his duster's collars and plant her feet on his chest. From there she allowed herself to fall back, bringing him down with her and using her legs to propel him over her now-recumbent body. He hit the ground hard on his back again, while she didn't remain recumbent for long. She used his momentum to roll backward over her shoulders and onto his chest. She went back to the duster's collars. Left hand over to right; right hand under to left. And…pull and _twist!_

Success! She was choking him out using his clothing for leverage. The retching sounds from his mouth were indeed encouraging. That is...until she felt the two of them being propelled sharply upwards, to the ceiling where she found herself crushed between the hardwood and Bruce's relative bulk. The thud on impact sounded every bit as dull and painful as it felt for her. By the third time this happened, she realized that she hadn't accounted for the anti-gravity boots. By then, she'd lost much of her leverage on his coat and her choke on him had weakened significantly. _Change of plan_. Still holding on to Bruce's coat, she used it to swing herself around to his back. There, she instantly applied a sleeper hold. His gagging and retching resumed, and she hoped to choke him out before he could effectively use the boots. No such luck. She felt herself being propelled back first against the wall. That one crash proved one too many, forcing her to release the hold and slump to the ground. There she lay gasping, focussing on replenishing the wind he'd knocked out of her.

As worse for wear as Velma was, Bruce looked worse still as he lorded over his downed adversary/idol with great difficulty.

"You never fail to amaze me, Velma!" he said in a voice echoing sincere reverence. "You always pushed me to the limit, always made me have to up my game. I've now exceeded the master and I can't thank you enough. Now I need to make my exit. Sleep well, my love."

With that, he pointed at her and…"Bang."

Velma felt her already shallow breathing become even shallower as she started blacking out.

" _Like, you leave her alone!_ " the familiar voice broke the room's silence as she straddled the line between asleep and awake.

**xxXXXxx**

Bruce Wormsley couldn't believe his eyes.

Stood at the elevator door were Rogers and the dog. The boy clutching the croquet mallet with weary, violent intent. The dog was an even bigger surprise, fangs bared, growling justifiable homicide.

"Reah! Roh more running, Ruce! Row reave Relma alone!"

Bruce looked at the duo disdainfully: his first mistake.

"Oh, looky here! Dastardly and Muttley suddenly think they're competent! So whatcha gonna do, Norville?" he mocked. "Pissed off at what I did to your girl? You going to smack me good and proper with that mallet? You're welcome to try!"

His second mistake: an open invitation to a galvanized and motivated Shaggy.

Invitation accepted, as Shaggy charged headlong. The half-second that followed was to remain painfully etched in Scooby's conscious as he witnessed in slow-motion disbelief how Shaggy bore down on Bruce, the mallet held high, primed for an almighty blow. Bruce was midway through aiming at Shaggy whatever generator he intended to use.

Ultimately, Shaggy's explosive movement was faster than Wormsley's reaction.

Before Wormsley could get off his "Bang", Shaggy's mallet found its mark. Square on Wormsley's scrotum. The result was instantaneous as the group's tormentor crumpled to the ground in slow, painful installments. His even, menacing voice was no more, replaced by a wheezing sputtering high-pitched gasp.

"D-…d-…da-…damn…you….Ro-Ro…Rogers!"

Scooby deemed the spectacle too much. His eyes watered at Wormsley's pain and for some reason, he suddenly felt a deep affinity for his enemy's condition. Something akin to sympathy, as if no male – no matter his nature and circumstance – deserved that level of pain. "Raggy," the puppy managed eventually, "rasn't rat a rit of roverkill?"

"Yes Shaggy," Wormsley concurred in timid falsetto. "That was overkill…"

"Oh but it's not over!" Shaggy's voice was more mischievous than menacing as he positioned himself to raise the mallet once again. "This is for hurting my girl!" he explained as he let fly.

* * *

"What the hell is that?"

"Damn! Are we too late?" answered Red Herring.

They'd witnessed a figure come crashing through the wall of the treehouse and land hard on the ground below. Red feared the worst, that Wormsley had gotten to the weenies. Without willing himself into the action, he leaped from the Caprice that had just been brought to a squealing halt as close to the treehouse as the driver could get.

He was feeling…well he wasn't sure what he was feeling but Daphne would later explain those feelings as being empathy and concern. He didn't hear the driver call after him to "Come back here, you idiot!" as he tore toward the scene.

For reasons he couldn't explain at that moment, it was of prime importance to him that anyone not named Bruce Wormsley was still OK. So his relief was palpable to find a battered Wormsley barely managing to get to his feet. His back was turned to Red, his attention focused more on the treehouse. Whatever happened inside there must have been intense. Intense enough for Wormsley to lose his mask, for even from behind, Red could see that his adversary's face was no longer covered.

Red had no problem sneaking up on his sparring partner and tapping him on his shoulder. Wormsley turned to see Red's anticipatory glare, and his eyes became pinpricks upon taking in the sight.

"Ding…ding! Round two!" announced the red-haired bruiser.

"Red, let's talk this over," the phantom meekly offered. But what was wrong with his voice? Why did he sound like he was auditioning for a Bee Gees reunion tour?

To hell with that, as Red brought his mighty temple down against Wormsley's for a headbutt to settle any argument. That one strike was sufficient. He witnessed as Wormsley's eyes glazed over, his legs buckled into submission and he dropped to the ground out cold. But not before proclaiming in that strange high-pitched voice: "I think a nap will do me the world of good right now."

"Red? Is that you?" three voices called from the treehouse. Three voices, belonging to Dinkley and company, whom he was unfathomably relieved to see still OK, if not in very secondhand condition.

Little time passed before Dinkley and her friends had joined him below. And wow! They looked like they'd traveled cattle class to Hell and back.

He wouldn't have the time for a proper greeting because…

"Dammit Red! I told you not to _WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE!_ YOU KIDS LOOK LIKE YOU FOUGHT A WAR…AND _LOST_!"

Detective McChokem-Childe, being ever so concerned as usual. No, wait…her concern was real! Shaggy and friends watched as she moved to relieve Bruce Wormsley of his superpowered duster and his antigravity boots before cuffing him. Certain aspects of his person caught her eye, but she continued with her work. With that done, she turned back to the kids and asked, rather pointedly: "I don't suppose any of you can explain why my suspect has bite marks on his arm, ligature marks on his neck, a circular impression on the side of his head… _and_ is unconscious right now."

The group looked around aimlessly in all directions while whistling tunelessly.

" _Well_?" McChokem-Childe followed up. " _Any_ explanations?"

Shaggy ventured forth with: "He resisted a citizen's arrest, Ma'am."

"Another example of police and community working together?" the detective ruminated on his answer before continuing. "Thank god Captain Rogers had such foresight. Now stay tight, Kids, while I call this in and get you some medical care."

The group was left alone together, suddenly uncertain of what to say in the aftermath.

"OK. _OK_! I'll say it!" moaned Red to break the silence. "For a bunch of weenies, you guys are kinda pretty cool. There, you happy now?"

The rest stared him down before snorting out some soft giggles.

"And just _what's_ so funny?" demanded an indignant Red.

"Nothing, Red. _Really!_ " answered Shaggy.

"It's just," added Velma, "it's just that it looks like it took much effort and willpower for you to say what you just said."

"And re arreciate it, Red!" Scooby chimed in.

"And like, we also think you're not that bad a guy…when you make an effort at least!" concluded Shaggy.

"And I fear our need to co-operate may not be at an end yet," Velma spoke and instantly put a damper on the levity. Her statement was met by Shaggy, Scooby and Red all talking over each other to contradict her. What did she mean? Wormsley was in cuffs and about to be in police custody. What gave, anyway?

"Things he said to me in the treehouse. I'll be able to pinpoint it… _after_ we all rest. We'll have to run it by Daphne and Freddy for their inputs as well."

"Like, Velma, do you always have to be right?" asked a defeated Shaggy.

When the paramedics arrived at the scene, they found three kids and a puppy sitting back-to-back-to-back-to-back, passed out and exhausted, oblivious to the world. Two of them were still lucid enough to have a whisper-soft exchange that went unnoticed by the approaching emergency workers.

"Shaggy," the diminutive one whispered into the lanky one's ear, her cheek brushing against his. "Since when did I become your girl?"

The lanky one kept his eyes shut as he whispered back: "I guess since Bruce said you were."

The girl offered no reaction to the answer; she simply responded: "Jinkies, _that_ was sweet of him…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends another chapter, dearest readers. I can't thank you enough for deeming my story worthy of your attention. You'd think that this would be the end of the matter, but Velma has her doubts. And when has she ever been wrong? What exactly is bothering her? For now, that would be telling. Look forward to the next chapter, in which I also plan on Freddy and Daphne having some more quality time together. Sorry for no Daphne in this chapter, but she needed her beauty sleep. If you feel so inclined, feel free to comment on what you've read so far.
> 
> On now to my notes:
> 
> I remember in 'Now Museum, Now You Don't' where it is mentioned that Velma "has a black belt in karate, kung-fu, judo and croquet". So it would only make sense that she'd keep a croquet mallet handy at the treehouse, wouldn't it? I used her fight with Bruce to showcase her skills in karate (the throat strike), kung-fu (the strikes to the nerve clusters and pressure points) and judo (the throws and the choke). All (hopefully) described as realistically and as detailed as possible.
> 
> When I originally wanted to publish this chapter, I realized I'd made Red's meeting with McChokem-Childe seem like too much of a coincidence and therefore the product of lazy writing. I needed a plausible reason to get her into that area. Then I realized I had the captain and Freddy in a rush to get back to Coolsville, and could use them to establish the detective's location in the area. Thusly did the opening section become the final addition to this chapter.
> 
> I'm loving the text-to-voice facility on MS Word. Especially when I've been writing until 2am and it reads out all my sleep-deprived mistakes, making me wonder: "Did I really write that?". Then there's Grammarly, which I use for final editing on AO3. It picks up errors that Word overlooks, though with the latest version of Word the gap between them has reduced significantly.
> 
> Finally, the Deezer list. I switched from Spotify due to Deezer offering FLAC streaming. Anyhow, the following songs served as inspiration for the action scenes.
> 
> I Think I Can Beat Mike Tyson – DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince  
> License To Kill – Gladys Knight  
> Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood – Santa Esmeralda
> 
> And that's it for now. Stay safe and I'll see you next time!


	13. Player Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI: Scooby, Shaggy and Velma succeed in repelling Bruce Wormsley's attack, with a little help from Red. Bruce may now be in police custody, so why is Velma not sure that the case is over?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the brainchild of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.

The police and the ambulance were quick to arrive at the scene. So too the parents who were contacted regarding the situation. From there it was a tornado of frenzied activities: medical attention was given; angry scolding and relieved hugs were administered; statements were given to attending officers.

By the time Captain Rogers and Freddy arrived at the scene, the CSU team was concluding their investigation. They'd measured, they'd photographed, they'd collected and preliminarily deduced. They were satisfied to conclude that the ghost's intended targets had acted in self-defense and that their actions were indeed justifiable. And that the captain would have their report post-haste. Another team of investigators, acting upon Red's statement, was sent to investigate Bruce's alleged stash at the abandoned subway station. If Red's story checked out – and they had no doubt that it would – then the case against Bruce Wormsley would be a slam dunk.

And as relieved as the parents were regarding their children's survival and wellbeing, their sympathy was not as far-reaching. Said parents had many words prepared which conveyed the same message to their respective children: They were alive and they could still stand, so off to school for them tomorrow…or was it later that morning?

Shaggy's mother provided the best summary in her hybrid beatnik/valley accent. "Like, Shaggy!" she chided her son. "If you're like, totally cool with risking life and limb to go monster hunting on a night before school, then you're also, like, _totally_ ready to face the rigors of school tomorrow!"

Velma's parents chimed in with voices tinged more with disapproval than anger: "Oh indeed, Velma dear. Now that you've closed this most perilous and heart-stopping case, we're sure you'd embrace the relative tedium of your daily scholarly activities more readily."

_End of story_. or so the collective parental tone conveyed. All the kids – even Red – nodded in agreement.

Velma, however, still had her reservations. "Only I'm not too sure we're done yet…" she quietly commented, mostly to herself.

* * *

All of Coolsville High reacted to the state in which some of its students arrived on Monday morning. Granted, their exploits as amateur detectives had earned them some minor recognition from their peers and teachers who were also aware of the dangers the junior sleuths could sometimes face. Sludge monsters, Frankensteinian poultry, even a headless skateboarder and a demonic clown! Well, investigating crimes _did_ carry some inherent – sometimes bizarre and surreal – risks and hazards, meaning that the occasional injury could be expected.

_But this…_

Velma was walking and breathing uneasily; that much the school body noticed. What they couldn't see were her taped-up ribs, the result of the hard impacts against the walls and ceiling in her scuffle with Bruce. The adrenaline from the encounter had made her unaware of her bruised ribs the previous night until a paramedic had determined them to be just that. Shaggy and Scooby, while having incurred no broken bones or any other serious injuries, were nonetheless limping heavily as a result of their fall. Then there was Red, who arrived not just limping but also sporting the darkest purple shiner that anyone ever recalled seeing.

Now, the more astute students were aware that Red Herring tended to be tangentially involved in the group's adventures. Chalking his injuries and the others' as coincidence would, therefore, be an extremely hard sell. And what made the situation more perplexing for those astute observers was seeing Red Herring fraternize with the group he'd heretofore often and freely considered "a bunch of weenies". Even Freddy Jones, who always seemed one step away from a slander suit or a restraining order from Red. And for inexplicable reasons was not showing any injuries in line with the rest of the group.

_What the hell is going on_ , was the collective thought on everybody's minds.

**xxXXXxx**

The group's first chance for a get-together was during lunch. They gathered at the cafeteria, as sore and stiff and bleary-eyed as they were.

Velma led off the conversation with: "I'm glad that we've all been able to get whatever rest we could after yesterday."

"Yeah, well speak for yourself, Dinkley!" moaned Red. "You could have used an egg timer for the sleep I got!"

Velma ignored the jibe and continued. "And all gratitude to Freddy for aiding the authorities in locating the treehouse and coming to our assistance. I'm sure that we wouldn't be gathering here otherwise."

"Yeah, Freddy," Shaggy reinforced with a groan he'd been nursing all day. "That was some quick thinking there, guiding McChokem-Childe our way."

"Reah, rour hero!" teased Scooby with an equally painful-sounding groan.

"Hey, anything for my friends!" acknowledged Freddy.

"Even if it means smartening yourself up!" Red weighed in, mockingly. "Who knew you had it in you?"

" _Anyway_ …" Velma intervened, "The reason I called this meeting was because I sincerely believe the case of Bruce Wormsley is not yet over."

The fact that she was Velma Dinkley, was the only reason nobody in her company was groaning at her assertion. In fact, the first response was from Red. "OK Dinkley, I'll bite! What makes you so sure?"

"Well," began Velma, "before he attempted to incapacitate me last night, he mentioned having to beat a hasty exit."

"But like, why?" queried Shaggy. "Where would he be going?"

"Good question, Rogers," commented Red. "Last night underground, he sounded hell-bent on getting in touch with Dinkley."

"Like he knew that the cops were on to him and he had to skip town pronto?" added Freddy, who followed up with a smirk: "Did he tell you that before or after he whupped your ass?"

"Hey bite me, Jones!" snapped Red. "I got him in the rematch!"

"Rentlemen, _prease_!" Scooby stepped in as a mediator.

Velma, who by then was treating any disruption as a nullity, resumed: "Freddy, you raise a good point. I calculated a 97.857413% probability that he was planning to skip town."

Red was first to scoff. "Ha! A mommy's boy like him? He's our age! He can't even drive! And if he succeeded last night, his only option would have been to flee for Mexico!"

"I don't know," pondered Freddy. "Maybe he arranged with some juvie cellmates to make him hop the border."

The statement was sound. It was plausible. It made sense. The fact that it was from Freddy made everyone else stare at him in amazement.

"Row, Freddy…" Scooby was first to comment. "Rid rail rake you rarter rall of a rudden?"

Again, Velma couldn't afford to have the meeting derailed, so she cleared her throat loudly before speaking. "Actually, that's the most plausible scenario I can think of. But there's a significant flaw. He may have had an escape plan, but how would he support himself once he'd reached his destination?"

"I believe I _may_ have an answer for that question!" a voice confidently spoke as it approached the table. All seated turned to see its source and were immediately stunned into silence.

They weren't necessarily stunned by her presence, but by her appearance. Her arm was still in the sling and cast, but she seemed just as bleary-eyed as her cohorts. As if she'd chosen to pull an all-nighter over getting her beauty sleep.

" _DAPHNE?_ " they all spoke in uniform surprise.

* * *

_Being indisposed had not deterred Daphne Blake. Not while the matter of Bruce Wormsley's mystery fabric was vexing her. Word had reached her at the hospital the previous night of her friends' encounter with Bruce via none other than Captain Rogers himself. Shaggy's father also informed her of Simonson's confession and Freddy's role in obtaining it._

"Great job by the way, Freddy!" she commented to Freddy at the table before resuming recounting her side of the events while Freddy smiled in sheepish acknowledgement.

_The captain was certain that the case was all but closed; Daphne was not as sure. That fabric. That revolutionary hybrid fabric for which none of the fashion houses had taken any credit. Simonson definitely invented it; he all but admitted that much in his interview in the prison. That fabric could have been a goldmine for him; he need only have patented it, then license its use to the fashion and sportswear manufactures. He'd have made a mint that way._

"So guess what?" continued Daphne. "I decided I'd rested enough and had Daddy check me out of the hospital that same night. As soon as I got back home, I called in a favor from an old friend."

_Once home, she immediately reached out to Carole Colossal, who was only too happy to loan out Barbara Simone, her hyper-efficient secretary, at short notice. Simone had had her prison sentence reduced to probation on appeal from Colossal. It was simple reasoning: Colossal was used to having the best possible secretary and Simone simply was too damn good to remain incarcerated._

"And you know what? Her lipstick might still be tacky, but she's still got it!"

_Daphne requested Barbara Simone to look into a new fabric invented by one Simon Simonson and used by Bruce Wormsley. Also, a look into whether or not anyone had patented the fabric. This was all spoken over the phone. Within two seconds, Barbara Simone was inside Daphne's room with an indexed, chronological, and cross-referenced summary of the relevant events. "I'm sorry for the delay", she apologized, "but the printer needed a new ink cartridge and I struggled to get access to the Patent Office's records." And as she zipped away, Daphne was left in awe of her superior capabilities. As was Jenkins, who was bold enough to query Miss Blake as to who "that fine specimen of femininity" was. All that was left was for Daphne to peruse throught the folder with enough paperwork in it to intimidate even the biggest bureaucrat._

"Ah! So that's why you're looking so rough this morning!" exclaimed Freddy, to the group's immediate disapproval. Daphne was not part of the disapproval; she was more interested in sharing her findings.

"Anyway…" she continued, trying to appear as nonchalant towards Freddy's comment as possible. "Freddy's right. I only finished reading this about an hour ago. I didn't have time to properly spruce up for school because I was in a hurry to share this with you guys. Mother almost had a heart attack when she saw me looking like this."

"Jinkies, Daphne!" commented Velma. "Your information must really be valuable for you to forgo your morning beauty regimen."

Indeed it was as Daphne began explaining. The more she disclosed, the more slack-jawed her audience became. And when she was done, the looks of surprise lingered a bit longer.

"Wow!" Freddy eventually broke the silence. "So now we can turn this over to the police for them to fully solve the case! Daphne, that was awesome!"

And it was all that Daphne could do not to react shyly to Freddy's compliment. And those from Shaggy, Scooby and Velma. And even from Red!

"And you know what? That gives me a plan!" said Velma in a soft voice that nonetheless cut through the whooping.

"But like, Velma!" protested Shaggy on everyone else's behalf. "Why can't we just turn this over to the police and let them close the case?"

"But Shaggy," rebutted Velma, "that would take time. Bruce is undoubtedly familiar with the section of the legal process and he'll no doubt want to stonewall the process for as long as possible. Plus, I'm sure his accomplice is fully aware of the situation."

"That's true," concurred Red. "Word travels very quickly through the prisoner grapevine." He then saw the sideways gazes he was getting and quickly added: "Which I just _happen_ to know, OK?"

"As I was saying," continued Velma. "Why wait for justice to run its course at its own pace. It's a very narrow window that we have, that much I admit. But if we play our parts right, we'll have our confession by tomorrow morning and the police will have a heinous, insidious criminal incarcerated without the need for a trial."

"Relma, russ this rean rou have a pran?" Scooby spoke up.

"Indeed I do, Scooby! Now here's what we do…"

She then detailed to the group what the prep would entail.

Go there. Get this. Call this person. Speak to that person. Arrange the following…

"And remember," she concluded, "we'll only have one shot to make this work."

Those around her were impressed with the plan she'd conjured up in record time. None more so than Red, who let out a whistle before commenting: "Damn, Dinkley! That's some plan! If I didn't see you and Rogers locking lips on Saturday, I'd ask you to be _my_ girl!"

And in that very instant, the mood and focus of the conversation changed dramatically. Daphne and Freddy were most aghast at Red's disclosure and responded each with a bug-eyed "WHA-A-A-T?"

Red, who either was unaware or didn't care about his tactless delivery, continued: "Oh yeah, you should have seen it! That was some serious face-sucking!"

And as an indication that his disclosure was not accidental, Red turned to a scarlet Shaggy and Velma, clicked his teeth at them with an approving thumbs-up. He then scuttled off, knowing that none of the group's attention was on him.

Shaggy and Velma were left to fend for themselves against the saucer-eyed curiosity of Freddy and Daphne. Daphne wasted not one millisecond: "Oh my _god_ , you two! Is it true? Did you two really…"

Although their blushes were a sufficient answer, Daphne sought – indeed, _craved_ – verbal confirmation. She wouldn't get it, as Velma quickly blurted out: "Oh look! Lunch is almost over! Remember the plan, OK?" Then she sped off, dragging along Shaggy and Scooby who barely had time to excuse themselves.

And then there was Freddy and Daphne, together alone in the fast-emptying lunch hall. Wouldn't you know it, lunch was indeed coming to an end.

Daphne spoke. "Wow, I never knew they had it in them! I mean, I _suspected_ , but…wow!"

"Same here," said Freddy.

To which Daphne sputtered in surprise: "What? _You?_ "

But Freddy was too serious to allow himself to be distracted. "What? You didn't notice how they acted at the hospital? The glances and the looks and the smile. Then there was the way they danced together at your place on Friday and—"

"You too?" interrupted an incredulous Daphne. "How'd _you_ notice all of that?"

"Yeah. Guess I'm not _that_ dense, right?" Freddy's answer was subdued as if he were hurt by Daphne's surprised tone. "I just happened to recognize that look on Shaggy's face when he looked at Velma."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I…" – he paused, unsure whether or not to continue – "I sometimes get it when I look at you and—"

" _OH LOOK AT THE TIME, FREDDY!_ " chirped the injured redhead with newfound urgency. " _WE DON'T WANT TO BE LATE FOR CLASS, DO WE?_ "

With that said, she quickly made for the exit, only to be stopped by a firm yet gentle hand on her – good – left shoulder. And as much as she wanted to get away from the conversation, she offered no resistance to being guided into turning back to face Freddy. Neither did she believe herself when she offered her weak resistance: "Freddy, now's not the time!"

"But I _must_ say this. _You_ must hear this." Insisted the blonde boy. "The night in the police cell was scary. Really scary. Like…bigger than all the monsters we've ever faced _combined_ scary!"

"Yes…I'm sure it must have been." It was all she could offer.

"I was most scared that that was it for me, No more time with my family. No more fun times with my friends." He then directed his gaze directly to her eyes…and said in all seriousness: "No more time with _you_!"

Now Daphne's eyes were batting at a rate that felt like a hundred per second. _Is he serious? Did he just say that he—_

She wouldn't have a chance to hear his answer, nor would he have a chance to express it. At that moment, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. With it came a mixture of frustration and relief for both parties.

"Freddy, look," spoke Daphne, "we really need to get to class, but we'll talk about this later. I _promise_."

What she did next felt so far outside the realm of possibility that it could have been part of a new reality. She moved in for a quick kiss, another gentle peck on the cheek as she did at the police station. Only this time she caught him flush on the lips. It was a mistake: her aim was off. But…where was the regret, the mortification of having made a mistake? As much as she willed it to come, it didn't. It refused.

Daphne Blake had to accept the new reality, the one in which her action _was_ deliberate, and she enjoyed it. Not wanting to face that reality just yet she turned again to head for their next class.

"Daphne, wait!" it was Freddy again.

The bellwether turned to him in frustration, to see a suddenly moonstruck boy staring lovingly at her.

"Can I carry your books to class?" he asked, still stupefied by what he had just experienced.

"Yes! OK! _Fine!_ Just get a move on!" she conceded with notes of exasperation. As they rushed to their classroom, Daphne had to admit to herself that in closing this case, she wasn't necessarily sure that she wouldn't agree with the new reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so another chapter comes to a close. Thank you, one and all, for taking the time to read it! You've probably guessed that we've begun our descent to our final destination. You'd be correct: do look forward to how this case will be closed.
> 
> And now for the notes:
> 
> For this chapter, I wanted to touch a bit on how the kids' parents perceive them and their mystery-solving hobby. The show very rarely gave them screen time, let alone an opportunity to approve or disapprove of their extracurricular activities. So in the absence of further evidence, I went with the assumption that the parents do support their children, as long they stay safe and their education isn't negatively impacted. Hence the insistence that they go to school after the encounter.
> 
> Speaking of school. I'm surprised that for all the high-profile federal crimes they've solved (including busting a drug-smuggling ring, stopping a currency forger and also a bank robber), the gang is largely anonymous at their school. I get that wasn't sufficient budget to animate a gaggle of adoring schoolmates. Still...if the show says they go largely unnoticed, then that's what I'll run with. Even their injuries as described here would barely garner a second look.
> 
> I did, however, take the liberty of having the school body be aware of the bad blood between the gang and Red Herring, just so I could have some fun with the reactions to Red consorting with Scooby and company.
> 
> Barbara Simone holds a distinction in A Pup Named Scooby-Doo as being the only villain to reappear post-capture in a later episode. She was still imprisoned, but her boss, Carole Colossal, still valued her work as a secretary and was able to secure temporary work releases for her. In this chapter, I extrapolated that a wealthy industrialist like Carole Colossal could use her financial clout to grease the wheels of justice and get a reduced sentence for her secretary. And a good thing it was for Daphne, right?
> 
> Right, all that's left now is the Spotify list, which for this chapter comprised:
> 
> Too Shy - Instrumental Mix – Kajagoogoo  
> In The Air Tonight – Phil Collins  
> Everybody's Laughing – Phil Fearon and Galaxy
> 
> And that's it for the chapter and my musings. See you next time!


	14. It's No Fun When They Fight Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI: Though everyone else thinks the case of Bruce Wormsley to be done and dusted, Velma and Daphne both have lingering doubts and share their opinions with the group. Freddy shows Daphne he's not ignorant on all matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the brainchild of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.

This was the moment towards which they'd been working. The endgame had commenced in Captain Rogers' office, eleven o'clock on Tuesday morning.

"Mister and Mrs. Jones," he acknowledged Freddy's parents who were flanking their son on the other side of the desk. "Firstly, allow me to express my sincerest regrets and apologies for your son's recent ordeal."

"Please!" the parents answered in uniform dismissiveness. Freddy's mother, who resembled his Uncle Eddy sporting a blonde wig, bitterly continued: "Don't waste our time with your so-called sincere apologies, Captain! You had no right to keep our son behind bars that night!"

Then came the sobbing and the tears. "Sharing a cell with all those hardened criminals just waiting to do God knows what to him! What the hell were you thinking? Why wasn't he released into our custody?"

"I assure you, Mrs. Jones," replied the Captain in a stoic voice. "The Desk Sergeant on duty that night has been cited and reprimanded for that oversight."

"Oh sure!" Mister Jones rebutted, voice dripping with contempt. "Too little and too late to prevent our lawsuit against you for Unlawful Arrest and False Imprisonment!"

Freddy's father was significantly taller than the mother, square-jawed and with more granite features. He cut a very intimidating figure, even to a twenty-five-year police veteran like Captain Rogers. To a pasty, out-of-his depth attorney, he might as well have been André the Giant. As was confirmed when he turned to the standing attorney representing Freddy: "Right, Mister Cheatham?"

"Oh yes! Oh yes indeed!" Howie Cheatham muttered a hurried confirmation, lest he upset the father of his client. As it happened, the confirmation was insufficient, for Mister Jones had another reprimand at the ready. "You know, Mister Cheatham, I'm surprised _we_ had to approach _you_. Our son, he may not be the sharpest tool around, but even _he_ had the presence of mind to realize a lawsuit in the making."

The sniveling attorney stammered back: "I was going to, Sir! I was going to! I just thought you'd want to spend all the quality time with my client…err, your son…before I'd bother you with a matter such as this!"

"Hey Dad! What's your problem?" It was Freddie rebuking his father. "At least we're here now! At least we're making things right."

"But Freddy." his mother wanted to counter.

"No buts, Mom! This man got me out of jail, now you and Dad want to bite his head off? I can't believe how rotten you're treating him! You're really disappointing me, you know?"

His parents both looked at him meekly, which gave Howie Cheatham the all-important go-ahead. "Right! Uh…so as we no doubt all know, my client found himself the victim of a gross injustice, for which he was eventually cleared and—"

"Indeed he was, Counsellor!" interrupted Captain Jones. "And you'll be pleased to know we apprehended the true culprit of the Marathon Jewellers heist last night. We grilled him all of last night, and believe you me, he had a lot of tall tales to tell."

The Captain produced a remote control and clicked at a TV/VCR in the corner of his office. The screen came to life, the tape in the cassette started spooling, and all present were treated to a grainy video of Bruce Wormsley's interrogation.

* * *

"Like Velma, I'm getting nervous with all this waiting!" whispered an increasingly fidgety Shaggy.

"Oh, Shaggy!" Daphne responded in chastisement. "What's there to be nervous about?"

"Indeed!" reinforced Velma. "We play our parts on cue and we seal the case!"

"Resides," Scooby this time. "Rit's rot rike re'll be rying!"

"Oh definitely!" Daphne spoke again. "There's no faking _this!_ " she continued as she motioned to her broken arm.

"You'll do fine, Shaggy. Don't worry!" Velma was now directing her attention singularly towards Shaggy.

"Quit your bellyachin', Rogers!" It was Red this time. "At least _you_ don't have to worry about any patrol officers or desk sergeants recognizing you!"

"I take it you've been a guest here before, Red?" Daphne asked in a smirky voice.

"I really don't want to talk about it, Blake!" Red answered more in embarrassment than in anger, "Let's just go back to waiting!"

"Reah!" concurred Scooby. "Ren re rake rat runnovaritch _rown_!"

* * *

The timestamped video showed Detective McChokem-Childe applying textbook interrogation technique on an uncooperative Bruce Wormsley who sat cuffed to the desk. She was alternating between being aggressive and sympathetic, empathetic and inhumane. Anything to keep him on his toes while trying to establish a rapport.

"Sorry we're lingering on this part," apologized Captain Rogers before fast-forwarding the tape to the appropriate time and pausing it. "He's confessed already by now, but listen to what more he has to say," the captain guided the assembled before hitting play again.

"You know what I don't get, Bruce?" McChokem-Childe asked with a calm demeanor. "I mean, I _get_ that you're a super genius. I mean, damn…being able to jury-rig a…what's it called again?" she paused to consult her notes – "A 'sonic pressure generator' with bits of scrap metal and used AV parts. That's amazing!"

Wormsley responded with just a sullen nod.

"But what I don't get has to do with you and Simon Simonson. We know you exchanged letters with him while you were in juvie. We know you badgered him into telling him where you could get his inventions that you used as part of your ghost persona. And there's my big question, Bruce: how did you know to approach Simonson? For that matter, how did you know of his inventions? As far as we can tell, the letters were your first correspondence ever. Before that, the two of you had never even _heard_ of one another."

At that point, Captain Rogers hit the pause button and surveyed his audience. Their attention was rapt, he noticed. He then fast-forwarded again, citing: "Not much to see here. He gets evasive and vague until about… _here!_ " The captain allowed the playback to continue normally.

"You're wasting your time, Brucie!" warned McChokem-Childe. "It's not like we haven't looked at your call logs from the detention center. We know, for example, that you've only had phone calls from two numbers. The one we traced to your home address. Your mother, wasn't it? Ain't maternal love grand? Anyhow, the second number we traced to—"

Captain Rogers paused the tape once more before commenting. "The second number traced back to a payphone situated a block away from a law firm called Dewey, Cheatham & Howe."

There was a collective gasp from those gathered, none louder than from Howie Cheatham.

"From which weren't able to gather much. No witnesses to confirm who used that phone at a specific time on a specific day a month or so ago. I reckon the investigating officer would have better luck playing the next state lottery so that lead was a bust."

He watched as the expressions in front of him changed. The Jones family showed disappointment, but was that a look of relief plastered all over Cheatham's mug?

"But then he had _this_ to say," added the captain as he advanced the tape once more. "Right about… _here!_ "

"How many more times must I say it?" yelled Wormsley, his last nerve seemingly frayed away. "I don't know who called me! But he knew what to say! He knew I was pissed off about Velma Dinkley. He figured I'd want another crack at her! He figured correctly! Then he told me how I can reach out to a guy called Simon Simonson who was doing federal time and also had it in for Velma!"

"Was that because Simonson was an inventor like you and had had some cool stuff that could help you out?" prodded McChokem-Childe.

"I guess," Wormsley admitted, perhaps relieved that his answer was finally being believed.

The detective pressed on: "For all the good it did you, right? You thought you'd get the jump on them, didn't you? Put them on the backfoot and overwhelm them. Show them who's boss!"

The viewers watched as the camera zoomed in on Bruce Wormsley, who could only yield another feeble nod of admission.

" _And_ that's that!" proclaimed Captain Rogers to a captive audience. "Or at least it _would_ have been had we not received new evidence yesterday afternoon from a bunch of concerned citizens, namely Bruce Wormsley's intended victims."

He produced the folder, a gift from Daphne indeed delivered to him at the declared time. He scanned his guests and noticed his time that Cheatem had begun perspiring, in contrast to the Joneses who merely seemed impatient.

"So watch now how the interview takes on a new direction," Captain Rogers explained as he unpaused the tape again.

"Well then I got some bad news for you, Brucie," began McChokem-Childe. "You got played! Shammed! Hornswoggled!"

By now, the fight had left Wormsley as he looked on listlessly. The detective didn't mind at all as it meant she could continue unopposed. "Son, you were just meant to be a distraction! A crash test dummy to test out new technology!"

"He said he'd help me," Bruce almost whimpered. "We had a deal! I get revenge on Velma, I humiliate her and her gang, then he cleans ups after me! I was to meet him after I was done. We'd set up an alibi, he'd see to it that I don't go to jail for this!"

"Except her didn't, did he?" mocked the Detective. "Excuse me while I break out the violins! No Brucie, you were a sap this time! Juvie didn't teach you anything! All he wanted was your armor to—"

The captain paused the tape to fill continue the story. "You know," he addressed the gathering as if issuing an apology, "it turns out that fabric worn by Wormsley was much more important than we thought. See, we looked at it as far as it could be used to determine Freddy's guilt or innocence. But a group of young detectives saw more to it. Plus, they have a whole _network_ of people in Coolsville who owe them a slew of favors. One of those persons was kind enough to provide them with this."

He opened his desk drawer and retrieved from it a document comprising many pages and annexures, which he displayed to his guests.

"We already knew that Simon Simonson invented the anti-gravity boots and the armor. But he was arrested and convicted before he could patent either one of them. And now the Son of Sam law applies, meaning he can't benefit financially off the items he intended for criminal use."

Another glance to the audience, where the Jones clam was munching on popcorn while Cheatham was fidgeting uncomfortably.

"So the patent for these things was up in the air, just waiting to be picked up by a very savvy and attentive patent-cum-criminal attorney – a great mix of skills, by the way!"

Another furtive glance showed just how comically exaggerated Cheatham's discomfort had become. Good…

"As was the case here. This is an application to the Patent Office for patents to those two inventions. Applied for and signed by…" – he turned to the attorney in the room – "you, Mister Howie Cheatham!"

The now extremely antsy Howie Cheatham was suddenly glad he was inside a police station, for it – theoretically anyway – meant he was protected from the Jones clan who was eying him intently, sizing him up with first-degree intent.

"And what's wrong with filing for a patent?" Cheatem began with no big amount of confidence. "Besides, that's an unrelated matter entirely!"

"Maybe," conceded the captain. "but it was good enough for some search warrants and for us to subpoena your phone records. Where we found several calls to several less-than-savory characters. Including, but not limited to" – as he listed the names he produced a photograph to correspond with each one – "Ivanna Katzebolsov, doyenne of the local Russian mob. Kim Yoo-Suk, high-level general in the Korean mob. There's more, but you get the point. All contacted the day after this application was filed."

"Wow!" blurted Freddy. "I get it now! So you had access to the formula and the blueprint which you would sell to the highest bidder in the criminal underworld! Then you used Bruce to go after my friends as a test of the new technology. You also had him use Red to frame me so that you can swoop in and clear me of the charges and throw us off his trail!"

And instantly the room went silent. It went silent because Freddy, who was infamous to all assembled for his crackpot conjecturing, this time had made a more or less spot-on conclusion. Reactions varied. His parents were amazed and relieved that his logical faculties were working properly. Cheatham was perspiring furiously, looking desperately for a straw at which to clutch. But Captain Rogers was frustrated at having his momentum disturbed: _he_ wanted to make the whole reveal himself without the interruption.

"OK, very well," the captain sighed. He then gave the summarized version of how Cheatham as a lawyer had access to all the case files involving ' _those meddling kids and their puppy_ ' and was privy to their methods. How Cheatham stumbled across the cases involving Wormsley and Simonson. How Cheatham aggressively pursued Daphne's father into keeping him on retainer for his daughter's detective work. All in preparation for this grand scheme.

And when he was done…

"Well…nice theory, Captain," wavered Cheatham uncertainly behind however much bravado he could muster. "Too bad…uh…too bad you've only got circumstantial evidence and testimony from a known criminal. And what's illegal about applying for a patent that's up for grabs _anyway_? "

The more be rebuttals he offered, the more confidence Howie Cheatham regained. The more he seemed to be reverting back to his _slimy defence lawyer_ mode. However, Captain Rogers would not be caught by surprise. He had, in fact, anticipated this move. "Very well, Mister Cheatham. Fair point. Now let's talk about the assault charges."

Before his suspect could even look at him quizzically, he called to the door: "Officer Ruegger! Please see our other guests in!"

* * *

_OK, showtime!_

Daphne, her friends – and Red – were chaperoned into the captain's office by the patrolman. One of Velma's instructions was to sell their injuries for maximum impact. So in they limped and groaned, the better to put on a convincing display. And it worked. They watched as Freddy's parents went pale at the sight. And if _they_ were pale, then Cheatem was absolutely pallid, as if all the melanin had fled his skin.

"As you can see, Mister Cheatham," spoke Captain Rogers as he motioned to the kids, "these are the victims of Bruce Wormsley's rampage." Then, motioning to the new guests: "Children, would you care to detail the injuries you sustained recently by Bruce Wormsley?"

Daphne went first: "Daphne Blake. Dislocated right shoulder. Right arm broken in two places, requiring titanium pins to be inserted."

She set the tone and the rest followed in due order.

"Red Herring. Facial injuries and femoral nerve damage defending myself from his attack." It sounded rehearsed – and in fairness, it was – but through coaching from Velma, Red's delivery was effective. It swayed opinion in the right direction.

"Norville Rogers. Bruising, a mild concussion, and some superficial cuts." In fact, Velma had done well in coaching all the participants.

"Scooby-Doo. Ruised ribs. Rextensive ear rauma, rinse recovered."

And lastly: "Velma Dinkley. Bruised intercostal muscle. Torn intercostal muscle. Bruised ribs."

Velma's plan dictated they show no emotion as they listed their injuries, but the sight of an already pale Howie Cheatham becoming paler with each performance was a sight to be relished. And relish it Captain Rogers did as well as he resumed.

"So that's four counts of felony assault, on _minors_ no less. Plus one of animal cruelty. Oh _how_ the charges keep piling on!"

"Hey wait a minute!" Cheatem was grasping at his final straw. " _Wormsley_ did all of that! All that is on _him_!"

"Only because _you_ set him loose! His intent and actions transfer back to you!"

And Howard Benedict Arnold Cheatham would doom himself with his next utterance: "He was only supposed to scare them off. He wasn't supposed to hurt them!"

" _Quick!_ Did you hear what he just said?" the captain pointed to the Joneses, who answered in the affirmative. So too did Daphne's group when similarly prompted. So too Officer Ruegger.

"There you go, Mister Cheatham. A room full of witnesses who heard you admit to conspiracy to commit assault on minors, child endangerment, and also cruelty to animals. Add that to your criminal conspiracy to deal in arms charges and you're looking at twenty-five minimum. _Maximum_ security! And you _know_ how much those convicts just _love_ it when they find out their cellmates are child beaters and killers. You think our evidence is circumstantial? We've got plenty of it and guess what? It all adds up to a watertight case."

Daphne and her friends watched with inner glee as the man who had engineered their torment was rendered paralytic. They drank in the sight of his legs buckling out from under him, causing him to slump to the floor and curled into a fetal position. He remained unresponsive in that position, ignoring and resisting Officer Ruegger's attempts to bring him back to a standing position.

"Or there's another way," offered Captain Rogers. "I've got an ADA outside who'll take your confession…your _full_ confession. In exchange, you serve your time in an out-of-state, _medium_ -security facility. Nobody who knows you. No looking over your shoulder, worrying which inmate will try to shiv you. With good behavior, you could get out in ten, fifteen _tops_. Your choice."

Silence prevailed as Cheatham mulled over his fate and drew the only possible conclusion. Defeated, he rose unsteadily back to his feet. He surveyed the kids and the puppy intensely, who were all eyeing him back with no emotion. The regret in his expression spoke of knowledge and insight acquired too late about their resilience and abilities. He then looked sullenly back at the captain.

"Send him in. I'll take the deal," was all he could say.

_Just like Velma planned it_ , mused a triumphant Daphne.

* * *

Only once they were out of the office and sure that they were truly out of earshot…only then did the gang break down into whoops and howls of delight. Hugs were given freely, high fives just as freely exchanged. Laughter erupted spontaneously, the overall tone betraying each participant's joy and relief at having overcome their most devious enemy yet, one who could hide himself out in the open without any disguise.

"I'll be damned!" exulted Red. "I'll be _damned!_ Your plan worked, Dinkley! You stopped the mastermind behind all of this!"

"No Red," countered Velma in her usual modest way. "We all did. Just by sticking to the plan."

"Yeah," confirmed Shaggy. "Like, for once a plan went off without a hitch!"

"No thanks to Jones over here!" added Red as he pointed to his wannabe nemesis. "You jumped the gun with your explanation! You almost cost the captain his case!"

And for the first time in a long time, it was Daphne standing up for Freddy. "Oh, Red! Couldn't you hear how he forced the captain to get a move on? You forget how bored we were getting outside while waiting for our turn. I imagine the Joneses must have been feeling the same way."

"Reah, Reddy!" Scooby piped in. "Rat russ rwick rinking!"

"A- _hem!_ " Mister Jones's throat-clearing cut right through the banter. "Kids, you've had your fun, you've put away the bad guy. Now let's get you back to school!"

"Yes Sir!" they replied collectively while moaning inwardly at being brought back to reality from their high.

Except for Red. "Nah, I'm good. Sir. I've got my own ride."

"If you say so," replied the elder Jones, who then offered upon parting. "Red, my wife and I never got the chance to say this to you…but thank you. Thank you for your role in clearing our son and saving his friends' lives."

Mrs. Jones took the opportunity to approach the delinquent and hug him tightly, much to his public embarrassment. And as if to compound his embarrassment, she added: "We can never thank you enough, you wonderful thing you! You saved our boy!"

"Yeah, Red," added Freddy. "Who knew you had it in you to do the right thing?"

"Freddy!" his mother admonished. "Don't you dare speak badly of this nice young man who risked his life for you."

And despite the scolding being aimed at Freddy, Red was the one left flushed by the woman's kind words and heartfelt praise. He was still red-faced as he stood in place after the gang had left.

"They must mean a lot to you if you were willing to stick your neck out for them like that," the voice came from behind him. Red turned around and immediately recognized the owner: the third patrolman who accompanied him at the crash scene.

Red took a brief moment to reflect before answering: "You know, they might just be the best friends I ever had."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are done with this, the penultimate chapter of this tale. The true big bad has been outed and put away, but there's still the matter of the gang coming to terms with their relationships. Maybe even charting new courses for their futures, who knows? Anyway, that will be the topic of the final chapter, which will also be the epilogue. Hang in there, dear readers! The ride is almost over!
> 
> And so to my notes:
> 
> Two main points pertaining to the Scooby-Doo titles were important here. The first one is how TV episodes and movies usually end with the criminal turned over to police custody. However, from the police's point of view, the arrested party would not yet be a criminal, but a suspect. The police would still need to corroborate the gang's allegations, then they'd either need to secure a confession from the suspect or build a case to present to the District Attorney. I felt it would be cool to delve into this aspect and have Scooby and friends involved in the process. Then there's the confession itself. I went that route for the sake of convenience. The process itself was very much simplified with maybe a shortcut taken here and there, in keeping with the simplified processes from the show. Still, I'm quite sure that the confession is adequate. Although there's no evidence that Cheatham was Mirandized, Captain Rogers did not ask him any questions that would have him incriminate himself. The captain was merely having a conversation in which Cheatham had volunteered whatever information he felt appropriate.
> 
> Secondly, I wanted to portray the Coolsville Police Department as a competent law enforcement agency. After all, the kids might bring in the suspects, but the cops must still close the cases. And it's them who have the skillset to make such things happen. With that in mind, I wanted to give them a chance to show off said skills.
> 
> I'm aware that the Son of Sam law aims to prevent convicted criminals from benefiting from the publicity generated by their crimes. But this fictional story is set in a fictional world in which Son of Sam was expanded to include other intangible assets such as patents. I'm also aware that Son of Sam was struck off the Californian Legislature in 2002 - my best guess is that Coolsville is situated in northern California - so it's just as well that the story is set in 1994 when the law was still in effect.
> 
> Finally, here's this chapter's Spotify list:
> 
> Dirty Laundry – Don Henley  
> Mediate – INXS  
> Why Can't We Be Friends – War
> 
> So that's it for now. See you in the final chapter!


	15. Clarity In the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI: Then just where have you been? This is the last chapter! Anyway...they've made the big collar, now what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo and most of the characters therein are the brainchild of Joe Ruby and Ken Spears, and currently the property of Warner Brothers Animation.

Where to begin?

Well, the young detectives and Red returned to school that Tuesday to sideways glances from their peers and the staff, a brief collective look of ' _OK, what did they do this time?_ ', before the curiosity abated and scholarly activities resumed as normal. No fanfare whatsoever. Which, frankly, none of them wanted anyway. After what they'd endured over the past few days, the humdrum of their normal routine took on a whole new appeal.

The case they'd solved too wasn't particularly newsworthy. In the wake of an especially prolific murder trial, the war on drugs in South America, not to mention any number of wars being fought elsewhere overseas, there was simply no screen time nor editorial space for it.

Again, no skin off anyone's back.

Captain Rogers did, however, inform them later in the week that a judge had accepted Howie Cheatham's guilty plea as well as the ADA's out-of-state sentencing recommendation. The Dewey Cheatham & Howe partnership was left with a PR nightmare that again left the young detectives cold.

As for Bruce Wormsley, the fact that he was essentially manipulated into performing his actions played a role in his defense. A plea bargain was reached between the ADA and his defense attorney that saw him receive probation for five years while undergoing psychiatric counseling and performing community service. All well and good, but for one slight hiccup: Bruce was told he'd be under his parents' custody. If one assumes that the captain was being 100% truthful in relaying the story, then Bruce Wormsley protested – unsuccessfully – that he'd settle for life without parole rather than endure five years of his mother's undiluted disappointment in him.

Ultimately, Simon Simonson was cleared of any involvement in Howie Cheatham's criminal scheme, and so continues with his original sentence with no change to his prison term.

One result of the case that Scooby and co did find agreeable was that Detective Esther McChokem-Childe was to receive a commendation for her ' _exemplary detective work_ ' and her ' _intuitive initiative that went beyond the normal nine-to-five_ '. She in turn accepted the commendation wholeheartedly while enthusiastically commenting on _'how crucial community participation was in helping me solve the case'_ and _'how visionary my captain was in looking to cooperate with the community to strengthen relations'_.

So a job well done. Still…

* * *

For all his acts of cowardice, Shaggy shared the group sentiment that solving a mystery was its own reward, but this case felt differently.

It had pushed them to breaking point – and beyond for some. It had taught them that mystery-solving would not always be fun and games. It wouldn't always be funny faces and comic chases. Crime wasn't always petty mischief arising from petty motives and could be conducted by violent individuals who would hold a grudge. There would always be a real chance of injury…or worse. And capturing the bad guy wasn't always the final word.

_Is this the shape of things to come? Could I cope if this happens again?_

And what about the group? _Where do we go from here?_

The weekend arrived to no particular fanfare. And in all fairness, Shaggy could be no happier for it. After what he, Scooby and the gang had endured, a dull week was a godsend. It was Saturday afternoon when he picked up the home phone and dialed the number. Pickup occurred on the fifth ring.

"Dinkley residence. You are conversing with Velma."

"Um, hi Velma." He'd had countless conversations with her up until this point, so why was he nervous now?

" _Shaggy!_ So nice to hear from you!" – after which her sure-footedness took a slight dip – "So…uh…how can I help you?"

"Like, I was wondering…well, me and Scooby are at home babysitting Sugie. If, like, you're not doing anything…would you… _could_ you…join me _I MEAN US!_ "

Velma's side went silent and three seconds later Shaggy's doorbell rang. He opened up to Velma, who despite wearing her usual ensemble…somehow, she felt differently. It was her scent, as Shaggy's almost-as-sensitive-as-Scooby's nose picked up. Was she wearing perfume just to visit him? _Him?_

"I'm sorry for being delayed, but on my way, the longboard developed a misfire and I wasted time changing its timing belt," Velma offered.

"Like, no problem," he replied, genuinely happy to have this time with her. And for the afternoon, he, Scooby and Velma went about keeping Sugie fed and entertained.

* * *

It had been a frustrating week for Freddy. Since that third kiss back at the school, somehow neither he nor Daphne could find the time for her promised talk. Although…he seemed to be attaching more significance to the procrastination than she might have been. Somehow she always had some or other arrangement lined up whenever he wanted to approach the elephant in the room.

Or maybe she wanted space for her thoughts. And as thick as he could be, even he had to admit that his relationship with her was now in unknown territory. _Maybe we both need space for now…_

"Freddy! You have a visitor!" his mother announced towards his room that Saturday afternoon which so far had seen him struggling to get the same amount of joy from reading through his National Exaggerator collection. He went to the front door to see…

"Daphne?"

Though familiarly garbed and with her healing arm still cast and slung, she had about her an intensity the likes of which he had never seen before. Intense, but not angry.

No sooner had he granted her ingress when she stormed past him and marched into the house. He was left to shut the front door and tear back into his room where he found her seated at his study desk, facing the door. That aura of intensity about her that he detected had not abated.

"Freddy, please close the door," she said calmly, despite what she was projecting.

He complied. A conversation was about to happen, he could see it coming. And she initiated it.

"Don't talk, just listen! Because if I don't say my say now…only god knows when I'll gather the courage to try this again!"

So, she had something important to say. His mind was racing: _Is this good or bad?_

"Look...I promised in the cafeteria that we'd talk about what happened between us. But" – she wavered momentarily – "the truth is, I wasn't sure. Not sure if I was acting…you know…in the moment or if my actions were genuine. Like suddenly realizing that we were in _real_ danger this time."

As if it was still necessary, she motioned to her broken arm for emphasis. Freddy was still listening keenly as per his agreement.

"So I needed time to think. I _had_ the time to think," she continued. "And, well, you may not like a lot of what you're about to hear."

_Good or bad? B-A-D, bad!_

He watched her inhale deeply as an indication of the magnitude of what was to follow.

"Freddy, you're a goof! A deluded, excitable, easily misled loon! You have zero self-awareness, to the point where I wonder if you're being so on _purpose_! And what's with the crazy conspiracy theories? The world's a crazy enough place without you stoking the flames and believing in things that don't exist, let alone make sense! You belong in the loony bin for _half_ of the crap you spew out!"

Aaand… _inhale!_ Because there was more.

"A lot of the time you make me wonder how we became friends! _Why_ we became friends! Why I should care about you! Hell, why I _do_ care about you in the first place!"

And as scathing as her words sounded, Freddy wasn't feeling any anger towards her. He detected that she wasn't speaking mean-spiritedly, but honestly. From her heart. He let her continue.

"Why I was as worried about you the night you were arrested! Why I made it my mission to clear your name, no matter what!"

_Inhale once more!_ And a longer pause as she stood staring at the floor, before continuing in a more subdued voice hinting at great reluctance.

"I mean, it's _crazy!_ Crazy that I, Daphne Blake – Daphne freaking _Blake_ – could like a space cadet like you."

Did she like him? _What?_ He was opening his mouth to ask just that.

" _YES!_ You heard me right!" she cut off his attempt at speech. "Even if it goes against every fiber of my being, I like you. I like being with you. You make my day interesting _because_ you're such a goof and a loon! And how come you haven't said anything?"

"Well," he spoke hesitantly, "because you told me not to."

"Well, I'm done!" Daphne huffed. "Don't you have anything to say in your defense? Any criticism about me? Anything at all? Let me have it and don't hold back! It's only fair that I give you the same chance!"

Freddy remained silent, his expression neutral, as he walked over to Daphne and bade her rise to her feet, which she did with slight trepidation. He then fixed an intense gaze into her eyes – her beautiful eyes – which dampened her already fragile resolve.

"Daphne, you spoke what was on your mind about me," Freddy spoke with no discernible emotion. "Will you _really_ let me do the same for you?"

She seemed unsure, though not afraid, of what he may have had in mind.

"Freddy, what are you doing?" she asked more in curiosity than anything else. She saw how he slowly reached for the side of her head. The anticipation overcame her, and she reflexively closed her eyes. She then felt him slowly lifting her Alice band out of her hair. She felt her newly liberated hair falling into a looser, more relaxed style.

Daphne then opened her eyes to steal a glance into a nearby mirror. Her red hair, marvelously kempt until mere seconds ago, was now freely flowing down to her shoulders, with a small fringe over her brow. But before she could react to the sight, Freddy spoke: "You know Daphne? You're even prettier when you wear your hair loose like that." Strangely, his voice was now brimming with quiet admiration.

"And that's all I have to say."

Daphne stole another glance into the mirror and though she agreed with what looked back at her, some curiosity remained. "Freddy, where on earth did you get this idea?"

Freddy wasted no time: "I read in the Exaggerator about how the female spies from Venus could entrance the male spies from Mercury when they were gathering intel. Did you know they wore their hair loose like yours is now and that they wore these tight uniforms that showed a lot of—"

Daphne pressed two fingers against his lips to silence him as she spoke with a weary smirk: "Freddy, just kiss me before I come to my senses!"

He did, cupping her left cheek to guide his lips to hers. And what a kiss it was as it lingered and lingered, their lips pressing and caressing. When they eventually pulled away, the pair were all titters and blushes and silence.

"Say, Freddy," Daphne ventured, "do you have any plans for this evening?"

He probably did, but he couldn't remember what they were anymore.

* * *

Sugie's entertainment had started with a parade of funny faces, in which the trio took turns making various facial contortions to each other's and Sugie's eternal amusement. Each monster before their encounter with Bruce had left the young detectives with a larger repertoire of slack-jawed, rubber-faced, eye-popping, limb-detaching poses. There was indeed a deep well of possible faces for the infant Rogers. And she reacted gleefully to each and every one of them.

Next was horsie, where Shaggy and Scooby took turns being Sugie's faithful galloping steed, while Velma offered her many a piggyback ride. This also went down a treat, maintaining the little one's entertainment levels.

Some snacks followed, then an umpteenth viewing of _Picnic in Candyland with the Bunny Bunch_ on VHS, which for years had remained Sugie's favorite movie. Scooby's too, as the canine always found it therapeutic after a hellish case. And after the Seven Levels of Hell he'd endured against Bruce, he couldn't get enough therapeutic activities. Which was why he offered to take a sleepy Sugie upstairs and put her to bed by gently strumming one lullaby after the other on his guitar.

Shaggy and Velma were left to tidy up the living room and kitchen. Before long, they were seated back on the living room couch for some Saturday evening television and idle chatter.

"Jinkies, Shaggy," proclaimed Velma. "Would you classify this as our first date?"

Her question hit Shaggy with quite the impact, and he stammered out the first words that came to mind. "Zoiks! Like, do you really enjoy just babysitting with me _that_ much?"

"Of course, Silly!" she tittered back. "Why? Is it that much of a paradigm shift for you?"

Pretending to know what 'paradigm shift' meant, a nervous and distracted Shaggy offered back: "I'm sorry, but I'm still getting used to this whole being-in-love stuff."

And immediately the ramifications of what he said came down on him like a cartoon anvil. Velma too, as she reacted: " _Jinkies!_ Do you mean to say your attraction to me is genuine and not the product of emotional trauma resulting from when Bruce forced us to crash?" – Her tone then changed from surprised to hopeful – "That with or without our accidental kiss, you already harbored feelings for me at some level?"

Shaggy paused for a moment before: "Velma, can you hear me out, please?"

He recalled a vivid daydream he'd had while doing dishes in a restaurant – "My stomach was bigger than my wallet, go figure!".

In it, he was Commander Cool, who with Mellow Mutt rescued Coolsville from a demented waiter. What made it truly memorable was Velma, who appeared in it as a captive of Waitro – for that was the villain's name – and who swooned over him and Mellow Mutt once rescued.

Velma responded to the recollection first with a coyishly flirty smile, then with: "Shaggy, do you mean to say that for some time now you've borne amorous thoughts of me, if only on a subconscious level?"

"We-e-ll, yeah, I—"

_G F(sharp)-E-D E-C G-F(sharp)-E-D-E-C_

Notes being picked gently by Scooby on his acoustic guitar, interrupting the reverie. As a guitar player – a one-time concert performer, thank you very much – Scooby-Doo had one major advantage over most humans. His claws made remarkably effective guitar picks, so his fingerstyle was incredible with the intricate scales he could manage.

_G F(sharp)-E-D E-C G-F(sharp)-E-D-E-C_

Such as now as he repeated the sequence of notes.

_G F(sharp)-E-D E-C G-F(sharp)-E-D-E-C_

The pup then gave another of his silly giggles as he watched his two friends turn red upon recognizing what he was playing: the opening notes of Tears For Fears' _Head Over Heels_.

_G F(sharp)-E-D E-C G-F(sharp)-E-D-E-C_

He repeated the sequence once more, this time with a knowing look reaffirming his acceptance of the relationship burgeoning in front of him.

"You're rood ror each other," was all he said before one more…

_G F(sharp)-E-D E-C G-F(sharp)-E-D-E-C_

Shaggy's and Velma's blushes became smiles at the puppy's gesture, whereupon Velma announced in both sadness and frustration, having seen the time on the VCR: "Jinkies! Look at the time! Best I head back home!"

The boy and his dog bade her farewell, with Shaggy walking her to the sidewalk. Within seconds she was on her repaired longboard, primed for the trip back home.

"Well Shaggy, it was fun. Maybe we can make this togetherness a more recurring activity?" she said with an unsure smile.

"Hey Velma?" replied Shaggy, with the notes played by Scooby still fresh on his mind. "Don't take my heart, don't break my heart."

Velma paused, then turned back to her new paramour. The board added a few inches to her height, so it wasn't much struggle to tiptoe to Shaggy's height and plant a lingering kiss on him that was pure electricity on both their lips.

She smiled a knowing smile as she replied: "Don't worry, Shaggy. I won't throw it away."

Shaggy watched lovingly as she disappeared into the distance.

* * *

Another week had passed, with a new group dynamic having been established. Instead of four humans and a puppy, it was now two couples and a puppy with the interrelationships stronger than ever. But there was still one member unaccounted for.

That matter was rectified early Sunday morning when Freddy rang the doorbell. The door opened to reveal…

"Jones? What the hell do _you_ want? In any case, I didn't do it!""

"Nice to see you too, Red," Freddy responded right through Red Herring's hostility. "How's tricks?"

Red was taken aback: "What's this now? You're not here to pin some rejected B-movie plot on me?"

"Do you want me to?" Freddy asked with a sly look on his face, which promptly earned him having the door slammed in his face.

"No wait! _Red_ , I was just kidding!" exclaimed Freddy while desperately banging on the door.

The door eventually opened to reveal Red again, this time with his arms folded and: "OK, Jones! You wanna talk, now talk!"

Freddy was no less confident as he resumed: "The gang's going to the beach today. And we were hoping you could join us."

With that said, he motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. Red followed the thumb's direction to see the limo parked in front of his house. The rest of the weenies were standing outside, dressed for sun, sand, and surf, just like Jones was. In the front of the vehicle, he could make out Jenkins exchanging close pleasantries with that Barbara Simone lady.

He caught the weenies' eyes and they all waved their hellos and welcomes to him. But being Red Herring meant being stubborn as hell.

"And just _why_ should I join you guys?"

"Because after all, you did for us against Bruce and how you helped us trap Cheatham, we all reckon you're alright. And we'd formally like to welcome our new detective," answered Freddy, thereby reducing Red Herring to slack-jawed silence. "Or maybe we're wrong. Maybe that patrolman heard you wrong at the station before he told Captain Rogers you think of us as your best friends?"

_Grrrr!_ Red was cursing his forgetfulness. That nobody without representation in a police station has any expectation of privacy. Oh, where was Delinquency 101 when he really needed it?

"So whaddaya say. Red? Care to join us?"

"Come on, Red!" The rest of the gang echoed Freddy's sentiment from the limo. "It'll be fun!"

"Indeed, Master Herring!" Jenkins shouted from the driver's seat. "Your selflessness towards Miss Blake _demands_ an acknowledgement!"

With that utterance, the camel's back was broken and Red relented. "OK, OK! I'll join you guys. Just don't broadcast that I'm going soft! I've still got my reputation to consider!"

Within minutes, Red was back at the door, appropriately dressed and accessorized as well for a day at the beach, and with his parents' blessings.

"So are we good now?" asked Freddy, arm stretched out for a handshake. Red gave the matter a moment's consideration and – "Yeah, Jones. We're good," – accepted the gesture firmly while holding back the urge for his eyes to start misting up.

He was able to prevent becoming misty-eyed at being accepted by the group by leaning toward Freddy and issuing a whispered warning. "But try to hug me and I'll fucking break you in two!"

Freddy acknowledged the warning rather hastily, then the two boys were walking to join the rest by the limo.

"By the way," Freddy spoke to Red. "Since we're friends now, you can call me Freddy."

Red was still smiling as he replied: "Don't push it, Jones. One step at a time."

_**THE END** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends this chapter and with it the story! My deepest, most profound thanks to each of you who - firstly - decided to give my story a chance and - secondly - thought it compelling enough to see it through o the end. Any comments will be greatly appreciated as well.
> 
> OK, on to my notes.
> 
> I conceived this story to be a turning point of sorts that would force the characters out of their APNSD mindsets and begin transitioning them towards something similar to the mindsets from Mystery Incorporated, without yet totally abandoning the core principles of the APNSD universe.
> 
> I initially planned for Red to be a bit character until I realized there was scope aplenty for him to have a redemption arc in my story. In writing Red, I also considered why he would constantly taunt our gang in the show. I concluded that he was really just vying for their attention in the only way he knew. That subconsciously he wanted to be part of their clique despite his displays of hostility. Now I really can't fault the show's writers for his shallow characterization. After all, I'm sure they didn't consider him a proper character, just a prop for easy soundbites and pratfalls. Anything for an audience with a short attention span and a network that really just wanted to fill a timeslot.
> 
> There were some scenes that I planned for this tale which ultimately didn't make the cut due to tonal or pacing considerations. One included a scene in which Freddy gets in Red's face with some or other outlandish accusations, only for Red to drop him cold with a headbutt. This wouldn't have made sense however as the first time they're in the same room is after Red is has become one of the "good guys". So I had him do it to Bruce instead.
> 
> A second scene I had in mind was one in which Shaggy and Velma bond in Scooby's washbasin after they'd failed to give him his bath, Then I realized I had to show Scooby's progress at the end as well and so came up instead with the trio babysitting Sugie.
> 
> And now...the final Spotify list for the chapter. I hope you all found the songs for any given chapter complimentary to the story, by the way.
> 
> You Gotta Love Someone – Elton John  
> Where Do We Go From Here – Incognito  
> Time After Time – Mark Williams & Tara Morice  
> Reelin' In The Years – Steely Dan
> 
> And here we have it: the absolute, make-no-mistakes end. Cheers and I hope to see you again, in this fandom or another!

**Author's Note:**

> So there you have it, chapter one of my first attempt at a Scooby-Doo fanfic. My goal here will be a hybrid of the zaniness of A Pup Named Scooby-Doo and the world-weariness of Scooby-Doo: Mystery Incorporated. As such you can expect tonal shifts between high comedy and serious drama within any given chapter; the ratio will vary from chapter to chapter.
> 
> And yes, the opening scene was totally inspired by the opening scene from Beverly Hills Cop 2. The name of the Jewelry store is a reference to the Dustin Hoffman movie, Marathon Man, which revolves around a cache of diamonds. Freddy's address is a reference to a Donald Duck cartoon. There's also a nod to Charles Dickens in there somewhere.
> 
> And before I go, here's my Spotify List, i.e. a list of songs I frequently listen to on Spotify for inspiration as I write a chapter.
> 
> On Our Own – Bobby Brown  
> Move Away – Culture Club  
> Bad Guys – Harold Faltermeyer (with Keith Forsey)
> 
> And that's it for this chapter. See you next time and stay healthy!


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